


Missing Meals and Second Helpings

by donutwolf



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (as in past relationship), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Chubby Lance, Comfort Eating, Cooking, Domestic, Drinking, Encouraging, Feeding, Feedist Undertones, Food, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Friends to Lovers, Future Fic, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, M/M, Minor Hunk/Shay (Voltron), Minor Original Character(s), Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining Lance (Voltron), Roommates, Sexual Content, Slow Burn, Stuffing, Teasing, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-26
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-10-11 03:36:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 39,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10454097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/donutwolf/pseuds/donutwolf
Summary: Working as a cargo pilot for a lunar shipping company isn't exactly where Lance McClain imagined himself ending up. It's not a bad life, but it's far from the piloting career he was hoping for when he graduated Galaxy Garrison three years ago. But he's learned his lesson the hard way--you can't always get what you wish for, and that's that. And hey, at least there's no weight limit to flying a cargo ship.One phone call and the wordsI need a favorare enough to set his life on a new course, crash landing through hopes and fears.





	1. Leftovers

**Author's Note:**

> So, there's a couple of things going on in this fic. 
> 
> First of all, it's a chubby Lance fic. There's attention paid to his body, weight and eating habits in a kink context, so check the tags and steer clear if anything sounds triggering. 
> 
> Secondly, Hunk is _not_ chubby in the beginning of this fic. There are plot reasons for it and he'll gain weight back, so please, no hate on this.
> 
> And thirdly, the plot is full of pining and bros being bros while secretly pining for each other, so if at any point you feel like screaming LANCE YOU FUCKING IDIOT at the screen, it's okay. I completely understand and give you my full blessing to do so. 
> 
> This fic is dedicated to my lovely gf Chubstilinski, who said "non-established" when I asked what kind of Hance she wanted me to write. Thanks, as always, for all the help along the way.

Lance didn’t usually answer calls during work hours. 

Usually, he’d let his phone buzz out and text back later; it was rarely that important, anyway. It wasn’t that piloting this piece of junk cargo ship required that much effort, but it was the principle of the thing. Or, “company policy _ ”, _ as his contract said. But out of habit, he still fished his cell from the breast pocket of his flight suit, and checked the caller ID.

The name on the screen made him do a double take. He stared at his cell, then stuffed the rest of the chips in his hand into his mouth, and pressed  _ accept. _

“Hunk?!” he said through the crumbles.

_ “Hey, Lance.” _

There was no mistaking that voice. Lance swallowed, then let out a breath, leaning back in his seat with a smile.

“Whoa, Hunk! Long time no speak, buddy.”

_ “Yeah.” _

He heard Hunk give a chuckle. There was a lot of static on the line, as was expected, but Hunk sounded just like he always had--slightly awkward, but warm, like visiting home after a long break. Lance pressed the phone closer to his ear, feeling a familiar tug in his chest.

_ “Sorry I haven’t called. Intergalactic is, uh. Expensive.” _

_ Yeah, and it’s not like data calls aren’t practically free, _ he thought, but he didn’t say that out loud. “Yeah, I get it.” There was a pause. When Hunk didn’t fill it in, Lance continued, “So, what’s up? Must be something real important for you to waste your precious dime to call me.” He hoped he didn’t sound as bitter as he felt, but he probably did.

_ “Uh. I need a favor.” _

“Anything for you, my friend.”

_ “Can I--I need a place to crash. For a while. Can I come stay at your place?” _

Lance was glad that the ship was currently on autopilot because otherwise, hearing that sentence would probably have swerved him off his course.  _ Hunk was coming back?  _ To Earth? To his place?!

He was still trying to process that when Hunk already moved on.

_ “Look, it’s okay if this is a bad time. I can just--” _

“No! No, I mean. It’s fine, of course, you just--I wasn’t expecting that,” he rushed out, trying to cover for his shock with a laugh, but it sounded weird and high pitched even in his own ears. Shaking his head, he took a deep, calming breath. “Of course, you’re welcome to stay with me.”

_ “Oh, that’s--that's great!” _

He could hear the relief in Hunk’s voice, and somehow, that made the knot in his stomach unfurl. For a moment, Lance could almost see the smile on his best friend’s face, wide and welcoming. The thought warmed him to his core, and he smiled, too.

“So, when are you coming?” Lance asked. He reached for the bag of chips on his dashboard and popped a couple into his mouth. “Do you want me to come pick you up? It’s okay if it’s during the day, I can just take the day off if you tell me the date in advance.”

_ “Actually... I’m almost there already.” _

He almost choked on his chips. “Say  _ what? _ ”

_ “I know, I know, short notice, but like, this ship is gonna land in a couple of hours so um. I’ll be there tonight. Is that still okay?” _

To Hunk’s benefit, he did sound genuinely sorry. It still didn’t stop Lance from panicking a bit. “ _ Dude _ ,” he groaned, wiping a hand over his face. Then he sighed and said, “Yeah, it’s still fine.”

_ “Thanks, Lance.” _

“No problem.”

They talked for a moment longer to arrange the specifics. Lance was almost done with his shift and ready to port soon, but it would take him a while to get back home from the cargo bay; they agreed that taking the shuttle to Lance’s apartment would be quicker than meeting Hunk at the terminal. It all seemed so surreal--one moment he’d been running his usual junk shipment back from Moon-2B, the highlights of his day having been the juicy burger he’d had for lunch and deciding what kind of takeout to grab on the way home. And the next?

He was getting his best friend back. He was getting  _ Hunk  _ back.

Lance almost didn’t want to hang up, suddenly afraid this had all been a strange dream, a trick of mind played by boredom.

_ “I need to go,”  _ Hunk said, his voice crackling with static,  _ “they’re starting the landing preps in a minute.” _

Lance closed his eyes. “Yeah. Me too. I mean, need to get this thing back on Earth in one piece and all that.”

They were both quiet for a moment.

_ “See you soon. And--thanks, again.” _

“You’re welcome.”

The line went dead; Lance let the phone drop from his ear and slowly cracked his eyes open. He was met with the same view he’d spent hours a day for the last two years staring at--brightly blinking lane markers hovering in suborbital space, there to guide his way home. In reality, his ship pretty much flew itself, and his role as the pilot was mostly to make sure nothing out of the ordinary happened during the flight.

Right now, though, there could have been a whole fleet of alien ships in front of him, and he wouldn’t have noticed them from the turmoil in his head. Lance chewed on his lip, flipping the cell in his hand over and over again, until the insistent beeping of the autopilot roused him--without realizing, he’d drifted all the way back, and the landing site for the  _ CargoLunar _ company loomed ahead of him. All he needed to do was land the ship, and he’d be home.

As he pushed the phone back into his pocket and grabbed the steering, he willed himself to focus. He wasn’t going to crash land this shitty ship just because Hunk--his best friend, his long standing crush, the man he’d been thinking about every day for the past three years--was back and coming to stay with him at a moment's notice.

“Not today, sunshine,” Lance muttered to himself, switching off the autopilot and turning the ship into a steep descent.

 

 

  
  
  
  
After transferring his flight log and cargo list to the workers at the hangar, Lance waved them a quick goodbye and headed towards the locker room. He was the last of his shift to come in--longest route--so there was no one around to see him scramble out of his flight suit and quickly skip to the sink to wash up. He doused his face in cold water and washed his pits, then glanced up into the dirty mirror.

He looked like hell. Bags under his eyes, a stubble on his chin, his long hair messy in its ponytail. He untied his hair and shook it out--he should have gotten a haircut  _ years _ ago--then redid it best he could. Leaning his hands on the edges of the sink, he let his head drop and sighed.

Fucking Hunk. He could have given Lance a bit more notice to get his shit together.

But it was no use moping about it now; he pulled himself together and got back to his locker, wiping his face dry on a towel he kept there. He took out his phone and checked the messages--there was one from Hunk from half an hour ago.

_ Just landed. _

Lance felt the knot in his chest tighten again, his stomach swooping anxiously, but he pushed the feeling down before it could overwhelm him.

He pulled out his jeans and slid them on, lifting them up past his hips. He had to suck in his stomach to get them to button-- _ fuck,  _ if he’d had time, he would have gotten new clothes as well. He gave his jeans a couple of adjusting tugs, but there was no helping it. As always, they felt too tight after wearing his coveralls all day, the waistband pinching his skin in the dip below his gut. With a huff, he stuffed the hem of his tank inside the jeans and pulled a hoodie on top to hide his pudgy waist.

After donning on a jacket for good measure, he stuffed his cell and wallet into the pockets of it, and gave his locker a cursory glance to see he hadn’t forgotten anything. His eyes caught the picture he’d tacked inside the metal door--two young guys with their arms slung around each other, smiles as wide as they could go. The pic had been taken on their graduation day; he smiled faintly at the memory, his heart clenching. It had only been three years, yet it felt so much longer.

He slammed the door shut. There was no time for sentimentality--Hunk was probably already on his way, and Lance still needed to pick up some grub.

He stalked out of the locker room in a rush, rounding the corner so fast he almost ran into one of his fellow pilots.

“Whoa, whoa, watch where you’re going, McClain!” The pilot, a tall, blond man called Dietrich, jumped aside to make way for him. He was holding a coffee mug, which thanks to his fast reflexes didn’t spill over.

“Oh, sorry dude, didn’t see you there,” Lance said, stopping.

“What’s the rush? The building on fire?”

“Nah, man, just meeting a friend.”

Dietrich gave a low whistle, a knowing smile spreading on his lips. “Someone’s got a new girlfriend, huh. About time.”

Against his best intentions, Lance felt a blush spread across his face. “Not that it’s any of your damn business but no,” he muttered, starting forward.

“Hey, hey, I was just messing with you.” Dietrich chuckled, then called after him, “You still up for beers tomorrow? You can bring your  _ friend _ too.”

Lance flipped him the finger. “Not gonna happen.”

As he walked to the parking lot, he took out his phone again. There were no new messages, so he typed,  _ I’m leaving work now. Getting some food on the way, you still like pizza right?  _ He got into his car and waited a beat to see if Hunk would reply, but nothing came up. Shrugging, he dropped the phone on the passenger seat and started the car.

The commute from the cargo bay to his apartment was only 20 minutes. Even during rush hour, it hardly took much longer than that. He’d chosen his apartment complex partly for that reason, but mostly because the fringes of the town were dirt cheap to live in. He’d rather spend his money on something other than rent.

He pulled his car to a stop by the local pizzeria. It was only a couple of blocks away from his place--and just like the rent, it was cheap. But the pizza was good, so he went there sometimes when there was nothing else he felt like eating. He checked his phone yet again, and--

_ Do I ever haha you know me. I’m omw, just bring me whatever is good there. I trust your tastebuds. _

Lance grinned.  _ I know just the thing for you, buddy. _

The redheaded waitress behind the counter immediately perked up at the sight of him. “Oh, hey Lance! You here for the usual?” She gave him a friendly smile.

Okay, so maybe he went there a bit more often than  _ sometimes. _

“Heya, Cheryl, doing good?” He flashed her a smile back, pulling one of the menus closer as he reached the counter. “I’ll have the, uh, usual and, um...” He scanned the plastic menu for Hunk’s old favorite--sausage and pepperoni with mushrooms and onion; the man was a fan of substantial toppings. “Can I also get the number 15 with mushrooms?”

Cheryl’s eyebrows shot up in surprise; Lance could almost see the cogs turning in her head--he’d never ordered for two before--but then her gaze dropped down to Lance’s waist for the briefest moment before her smile flickered back in place. “Sure thing, honey! So, a pepperoni with pineapple and a meat n’ onion with mushrooms?” When Lance nodded to confirm, she told him the sum and bustled to take the order to the kitchen. “It’ll be a few minutes, so you can--oh, but you know the drill, right? Just sit back and relax,” she said with a laugh, waving at him before disappearing from his view.

Usually, Lance liked to stay at the counter and chat while he waited for his order, but not today. He fled to one of the booths, his cheeks burning.

That glance--of course, she had assumed that the second pizza was for him as well. A fat guy ordering two pizzas for himself was a much more likely conclusion than a fat guy having company over, right? As much as Lance wanted to deny it, that assumption stung like hell, but...

He glanced around, then down to his lap. It wasn’t too cold outside so he’d left his jacket unzipped, and the proud swell of his gut poked out from between the two sides. His hoodie did nothing to hide it--if anything, the way it clung to his belly bulge made it seem even rounder, big enough to rest on top of his thighs. Lance shifted on his seat, surreptitiously trying to pluck it looser, but then he forced himself to stop.

What was the point? There was no denying he’d gotten fat. Not chubby, not  _ huge _ , but definitely fat. So what if Cheryl or anyone else thought he was gonna eat those two pizzas all by himself? Lance scoffed, resting his hands on the table. So what if he  _ did  _ eat two pizzas? So fucking what.

He fiddled with his phone to distract himself until Cheryl came out with two boxes stacked on top of each other. “There you go! Hope you enjoy it, I asked Hal to put some extra pepperoni on them cuz you like it so much.” She gave him a wink, and Lance replied with the best smirk he could offer; he didn’t bother to set her straight.

“I’m sure I will.”

It took only five minutes to get his car parked outside his apartment, and suddenly Lance was nervous. He had managed to keep his nerves in check until then, but now, now that he was almost home, his stomach felt like it was about to turn over.

He tried to remember when he’d last cleaned up--he certainly wasn’t a neat freak, but not a complete slob either. Did he have clean sheets to borrow? He  _ had _ just done the dishes a few days ago, right? Lance glanced in the rearview mirror, trying to straighten up his messy hair, reminding himself that it was just Hunk; the man had lived with him for three years, he  _ knew  _ Lance.

But then again, it was  _ Hunk.  _ Even if he wasn’t the type to judge, Lance still didn’t want give a bad impression.

Breathing out his frustration, he grabbed the pizzas and climbed out of his car. There was no one waiting at the front door; Lance balanced the boxes in one hand as he punched in the door code, his anxiety giving way momentarily. Maybe he’d have time for a shower before Hunk got there, or at least to tidy up his place. Maybe--

There was a man waiting for the elevator at the back of the small lobby. His dark hair was cut neat and short, his shoulders broad under his casual jacket, and while this man seemed to be half the size of Hunk--Lance knew it was him. He stopped dead in his tracks, shocked into silence, but he didn’t have time to observe this new Hunk as then the door clanked shut behind him, calling the man to turn around.

They stared at each other for a split second. To his horror, Lance realized that as shocked as he was to see Hunk having turned into, well, a  _ hunk,  _ his friend must be looking at  _ his _ transformation with equal surprise. Blood rushed to his face, his whole body tensing up like he wanted to defend himself against Hunk’s eyes.

“ _ Lance, _ ” Hunk breathed, his face splitting into a smile, and before Lance knew it, he was caught in a bear hug so tight it took the air out of his lungs.

He had forgotten how easy this was--to let himself be drawn into Hunk’s arms, let the warm embrace melt away his worries. And even if Hunk didn’t feel the same as before, his body firm with muscle where it had been soft with fat before, his hug was the same. Lance felt something inside him give in and relax, like he’d been holding a breath for so long he forgot what breathing was.

“Don’t kill the pizzas,” he said, just to say something.

“Oh, sorry, I was just--” Hunk pulled back, but kept his hands on Lance’s shoulders, beaming at him. “--it’s just  _ so good to see you _ .”

Lance couldn’t help smiling back at him. “Likewise, buddy.” He let his eyes travel over Hunk’s features, making note of the things that had changed; his face was leaner, too, chin more chiseled and cheeks less full, but his eyes were as kind as ever, the smile on his lips affectionate and warm. He licked his lips, then said, “You look  _ great _ , by the way.”

Hunk glanced down at himself, then back to Lance. “Oh, this? I guess I dropped some weight.” He finally stepped back enough to put some distance between them, chuckling awkwardly. “You look great, too.”

“Oh, please. You don’t have to do that. I know I’m a mess.”

“No, I mean it.”

Lance scoffed, waving his hand. “Dude, stop. For all the weight you’ve lost, I’ve gained some, and that’s that.” Being so honest made his cheeks burn with heat, but he ignored it. He moved past Hunk to press the elevator button, saying, “Let’s get upstairs. The pizza’s getting cold.”

“Oh! Good thinking by the way, I’m  _ starving _ .” Hunk hurried in after him, picking up his duffel bag before getting into the elevator. “The in-flight food is always so terrible _. _ ” He pulled a face, and Lance grinned--same old Hunk.

The doors closed, and Lance chose the fourth floor. “So, what are you doing here? Or should I say,  _ business or pleasure _ ?” He chuckled at his own joke, but sobered suddenly as a thought occurred to him. “No, but wait--you didn’t bring Shay with you?”

He could immediately see the change on Hunk’s face as he turned to look at him; his brows were pulled down, expression guarded, the line of his mouth tight. Lance swallowed, a sense of foreboding coming over him.

“Shay and I broke up.”

“Oh. Oh, shit, I’m sorry.”

Hunk shook his head. “No, it’s okay. It’s--it was a mutual decision.”

He didn’t know what to say; the elevator dinged, the doors sliding open. Lance looked at Hunk, then clapped his arm gently. “Fuck, man, I’m still sorry to hear that. If you need to talk...”

“Thanks.” Hunk glanced at him sideways, a faint smile on his lips--at least he wasn’t crying, so maybe it really was okay.

“Is that why you’re here, then?” he asked as they filed out of the elevator.

Hunk sighed. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

“What about your job?”

Lance started walking down corridor, Hunk trailing after him.

“It was only a temporary position, nothing worth staying over.”

Lance hummed. “Yeah. But why did you come back  _ here _ ? Earth ain’t nothing compared to those places you’ve been to.”

“It is to me. I missed home. And...” Hunk paused. ”I missed my best friend.”

Lance stopped, turning to face Hunk. There was emotion brimming in his dark eyes, and he was smiling at Lance in a way that made his heart do an ugly twist inside his chest. “Shit, dude,” he said in a voice that was definitely softer than the words called for.  _ Hunk had missed him _ . He nudged his friend, his lips quirking into a smile. “You’re not allowed to make me cry before I’ve had at least a couple of beers, you big softie.”

To hide his face--no, he was definitely not feeling the sting of tears there, nope--he turned to the door they were standing in front of. “This is me.” He got out his keys and unlocked the door, then stepped aside to let Hunk in. “It’s not much, but make yourself at home.”

Having someone else enter his apartment always made Lance weirdly more aware of his surroundings. Not that he’d had many visitors; his family lived far enough away that they rarely stopped by, and the friends he’d had over could be counted on one hand. The ladies he’d invited to his place had mostly been one night stands, but as always, he was eager to impress.

So as Hunk shook off his jacket and stepped into the scarcely furnished living room, Lance felt like he was seeing his home for the first time, through different eyes. The apartment was small. There was only one bedroom, a kitchen and the living room, but he’d done his best to make it look nice; a cushy couch took up most of the back wall, offering a view to a big screen on the opposite wall. The walls had been painted in a dull shade of grey, but he’d hung framed posters on them to make the room look less bleak--space themed, of course. He’d even managed to keep the big fern by the window alive since buying it, even though his knowledge of plants was... a bit patchy.

It wasn’t that bad, except--

“Wow, this is nice,” Hunk said, sounding impressed. He zoomed in on the posters to have a closer look, and Lance quickly moved to gather up the remains of yesterday’s dinner from the coffee table.

“Yeah, nice,” he repeated, leaving the pizza on the table as he took the empty takeout cartons to the trash.

When he came back, Hunk was peering down on a framed picture Lance had set on top of a small drawer. He paused on the doorway, taking the opportunity study Hunk’s form unattended. His soft green shirt hung loose on his frame, like he hadn’t bothered to buy smaller ones after losing weight, but in some way, it suited him. Lance felt a stirring in him, his body warming up as his gaze travelled over Hunk’s body. He had always thought Hunk was good-looking, big and soft in a way that made it easy to put your arms around him, but now, there was something striking about him; it was almost painful to look at him, the sharpness of his features like a stab to his gut.

“This is a good picture,” Hunk said, giving Lance just enough warning to get his composure back before he straightened up to look at him. “Have you heard from Pidge recently?”

Lance was aware of the blush still on his face, so he turned his attention to the picture Hunk had been looking at--it was from their days at the Garrison, one of the rare photographs of the three of them together. Pidge had hated having her picture taken, so it had taken a lot of persuasion to get her to pose for it, but the end result was good. They all looked so happy in it.

“Not in a long time,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “Last I heard she was still working for the ISC on their deep space program, but... We don’t keep in touch much.”

“Oh. Yeah, I heard they snatched her to work for them before she even finished her degree, but nothing since then. I wonder how she’s doing.”

Lance felt a pang of jealousy, just as always when he thought of the opportunities he’d missed while his teammates had gone on to have such good careers. Hunk might be unemployed right now, but at least he had a resume full of experience from the various projects he’d worked on since graduating. At least he had something to show for the last three years, unlike Lance.

The flash of anger that pierced him took him by surprise, and suddenly, he needed a moment alone. “I’ll go get us something to drink,” he said, retreating back to the kitchen.

Really, he had no reason to be bitter. It wasn’t Hunk’s fault Lance had flunked his interview for the flight squad, thus sinking his chances to become a fighter pilot. He could have tried again. He could have chosen not to give up, but--he had. Still battling with his feelings, Lance ripped open the fridge door and grabbed a beer from the bottom shelf. With a twist, he opened the bottle and took a long gulp.

It was hard to admit, but he’d done this to himself. He drank again, but slower, exhaling as he finished. He was tense all over, his heart racing like he had just run a mile. Hunk returning like this had been a plot twist he’d never expected to happen, and it felt simply unreal that he was here now.

_ Shay and I broke up. _

Lance set his beer down on the countertop, but he didn’t know what to do with his hands, so he picked it up again; he felt restless, like he’d been electrocuted, the sting and the shock still fresh in his mind.

Shay and Hunk, they had gotten together during Hunk’s final year at the Garrison, six months before their graduation. He’d never really liked Shay--she had the same qualities as Hunk, friendly and steady, but something about her just didn’t sit right with Lance. Just her mere presence in Hunk’s life irritated him, which was absurd, because he was happy for Hunk to have someone, right? Of course, he’d figured it out too late. When Hunk wasn’t a constant in his life anymore, he could finally see the hole he’d left with clarity, the jagged edges spelling out what he had missed. And that how, two months after Hunk and Shay had set out to space to start the journey of their lives, Lance had finally realized he’d been in love with Hunk all along.

And then everything went to hell, and now Hunk was back, and Lance didn’t know how to respond. He grit his teeth; he hadn’t realized how much bitterness he was still harbouring over how things had turned out. He’d been content in his boring life up until today--now, the force of his feelings surprised him, the intensity of them out of place in this placated existence of his.

“You kept my postcards.”

Hunk’s voice made him jump, and he hurled around to find him on the doorway. Hunk pointed at the fridge door. “You kept them.”

Lance followed his finger to where he was pointing; there were several post cards taped on the fridge door, most of them depicting some exotic view from across the galaxy. “Of course,” he said, frowning; it hadn’t even occurred to him to throw them away. He took a step closer, and looked over the congregation of images, a faint smile rising to his lips. “It’s nice to know where you’ve been.” He touched a card that showed a beach--an impossibly sunny looking beach that could have been from any of the old resorts on Earth before they all got spoiled. The only difference was the sky that was so full of stars Lance had never seen anything like it.

“I thought you might enjoy them.”

Hunk had followed his example and moved closer, standing right behind him now. Hearing his voice so close to his ear gave Lance a shiver, and he let his hand drop and took a step aside, busying himself with his beer. Hunk was looking at the postcards with a soft expression on his face--Lance wondered if he missed those places. If he missed the life he’d had there.

Lance shrugged, glancing down at his bottle. “It’s nice getting mail.”

Hunk’s smile grew a bit. “You never sent  _ me _ any.”

“Well, I didn’t go any place worth sending cards from,” he huffed, crossing his arms. “Besides, half the time I didn’t know your address.”

“You could have asked.”

There was no accusation in Hunk’s voice, but Lance knew what he meant. They had sort of drifted apart--not talking like they used to, except for the occasional email--and with a jolt of guilt, Lance realized it had been months since last one.

“I know,” he said. His lips curled up, but it wasn’t quite a smile enough to call it one. “Sorry for being a shit friend.”

But Hunk shook his head, his laugh soft. He patted Lance on the shoulder, leaving his hand there for a moment as if to assure him. “That’s not what I meant,” he said. “I just want to know you’re okay.”

Lance had to bite on his lip to keep his expression from dissolving. “Well, you’re here now,” he muttered, then finished his beer because  _ fuck _ , he couldn’t handle this.

He could handle this. “C’mon, let’s get you a beer--you still drink beer, right?--and hit those pizzas while we catch up.” While talking, he circled around Hunk to access the fridge and pushed a cold beer in his hand; he took a fresh one for himself as well, then shooed them both back into the livingroom.

As there weren’t many seating options, they both sat down on the couch. Luckily, it was spacious enough that they didn’t have to sit elbow to elbow. Lance grabbed the remote and started flicking through the channels, gesturing with his beer hand. “There’s one for you,” he said, pointing at the pizza boxes. “You okay with baseball?”

“Sure, yeah,” Hunk replied; he pulled the pizzas closer and cracked the lid of the top most box. “Which one’s mine?”

“The one with the mushrooms.”

“Oh!” Lance glanced at Hunk sideways, stifling back a smirk when he saw Hunk open the other box fully and lean in for a better look. The smile that bloomed on his face could only be described as  _ pious.  _ “Fuck, man, they don’t do pizza like this anywhere but Earth.” He picked up a slice and took a huge bite, his eyes fluttering shut as he hummed at the taste.

“I wouldn’t know, but I’ll take your word for it,” Lance said. He found the sports channel and after a swig of beer, dug into his own pizza. It was still warm enough to eat, and suddenly, he realized how hungry he was.

The game rolled on on the screen, but after a few minutes, Hunk asked, “So, how’s it going? You still working for that cargo company?”

Lance nodded, swallowing his mouth empty before speaking. “ _ CargoLunar, _ yeah. Same old boring shit, though at least they give me a new route every once in awhile.” He grabbed a new slice and stuffed it into his mouth; the extra pepperoni made it greasy, but oh so good, and he wanted to keep eating before it got stale.

“Well, at least you get to fly,” Hunk said.

Lance scoffed through a mouthful. “I’d barely call it that. I mean, I guess technically it counts as flying, even if the autopilot does most of the work.”

Hunk hummed; he opened his beer and drank, then said, “So you like it there?” His tone sounded careful.

“I guess, yeah. Pays the rent.” He shrugged, feeling slightly defensive. “It’s fine, really.”

They watched the game for a moment, but Lance couldn’t focus on anything that was happening on the screen. Okay, so maybe he wasn’t that into his current job, but so what? It was an okay job, friendly coworkers and a steady source of income. What it lacked in variety, it made up in easiness--there was luxury in having a job that didn’t tire you out to the point where all you wanted to do after your shift was sleep.  _ As if my free time is any more interesting, _ Lance thought. He tried to drown the flash of guilt with a long drink and another slice of pizza.

“So, are you... are you seeing anyone?”

Lance choked down his pizza, glancing at Hunk. Their eyes met, but Lance quickly looked away. Once he had his mouth empty, he cleared his throat. “Does it look like I’m seeing anyone?” he said sarcastically, gesturing around.

“You look fine, Lance,” Hunk said.

A blush creeped over his face; he had mostly meant his obvious bachelor pad, but he could see how Hunk would get the wrong impression. He rubbed his nose, avoiding Hunk’s eyes. “I mean, I got some numbers,” he said. It wasn’t exactly a lie--just that those numbers were more than two years old. “You know, some ladies, but... I’m not looking for anything serious right now.” He scoffed. “Not much of a ladykiller anymore.”

“Yeah,” Hunk said after a pause.

Something in his tone got under Lance’s skin; he felt too hot, and the beer wasn’t helping. “Hey, we should go out some night,” he started after he’d finished taking a swig, trying to sound enthusiastic. “It’d be just like the old times, except--you’d be  _ my  _ wingman now.” He leaned back and turned to look at Hunk, raising his brow meaningfully. “I mean,  _ you  _ look fine _.  _ Girls would be flocking you over, man.” As he said it, he could almost see it happening. Hunk was certainly a great looking guy, tall with big muscles, with an air of modesty about him--just the sort women preferred. He stopped at Hunk’s face, trying to keep his smile confident.

“I don’t know, Lance, maybe not, uh...” He looked down, his face red like he was embarrassed.

“Psh, come on. Maybe not right  _ now,  _ but you should consider it.” Lance should probably have stopped there, but something was pushing him forward, keeping him talking when he knew he should really just let it go. He turned his eyes back on the screen, shaking his head slightly. “Lance and Hunk, killing it like the good ol’ days. Oh, you remember that one time, that night we were at the Galactic, chatting up  _ all the ladies _ in town? It must’ve been right before you and Shay got--oh, fuck, sorry, um.” Lance laughed nervously. “I mean, those were the days, man. I got my game on, got you by my side, and I got  _ at least  _ three of those lovely ladies to give me their numbers. No, make that four. You remember, right?”

When Hunk didn’t reply, Lance glanced at him--and immediately regretted everything he had said. Hunk’s face had frozen into a mask, and he was staring at his drink with the focus of someone who’s trying very hard not to show their emotions. Lance cursed himself for letting his mouth run--fuck, he’d even brought up  _ Shay _ , for god’s sake. No wonder Hunk was acting weird.

He cleared his throat again, but the roughness in it stayed. “Fuck, Hunk, I’m sorry. Too soon, right? I’m--”

“I remember,” Hunk said, cutting him off sharply. He looked like he was about to say something more, but in the end, he only sighed. “It’s fine, Lance.”

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No, not really.”

Lance bit his lip, reaching for another slice--he needed something to shut him up before he made things any worse. As he grabbed for the box, he glanced in, and his eyes widened when he saw that it was almost empty, only two slices of the whole pizza left. His eyes skittered over to Hunk’s box; he still had half of his left.

A flush cast over him. He’d been eating so mindlessly, too nervous to keep from shoving the food into his mouth. He was suddenly aware of the way his stomach rolled forward, bloated from the pizza and the beer, his already tight jeans digging into his waist. Normally, he would have changed the moment he got home--nothing beat the sweats and a t-shirt combo in comfort--but with Hunk there, he’d been too preoccupied to even think about it.

And the worst part was that he still wasn’t all that full. God, maybe Cheryl had been onto something--he could have easily eaten his way through more than one pizza.

“Something wrong?”

Lance woke up from his thoughts. “Uh, no.” His hand hovered over the pizza, until finally, he reached down and grabbed it. Fuck, he’d already made a pig of himself, so might as well go all the way.

He leaned back with his slice, resting his back against the couch as he took another bite. “Aren’t you going to finish your pizza?” he asked with his mouth full, and when Hunk looked away, he surreptitiously slid a hand down to tug at his hoodie; that didn’t make it sit any looser, but at least it wasn’t riding up anymore.

“Ah, well...” Hunk started, then chuckled. “I think I’m good for now.” He took Lance’s example and sat back.

“Jesus, when did you turn into such a lightweight,” Lance grumbled through his pizza, his face still burning. “How did you end up losing so much weight anyway?”

Hunk shrugged. “I didn’t mean to. It just kinda happened.”

Lance looked at Hunk sideways, and couldn’t keep himself from asking, “ _ She _ didn’t put you up to it?”

Maybe his voice was too accusing, because Hunk immediately balked.

“No! No, Shay... she didn’t put me up to it. I just, didn’t feel like eating that much.”

He looked at his friend for a moment. There was something on his face, like underneath the surface he was hiding a lot of pain, but--Hunk had made it clear he didn’t want to talk about it. “Well, I wish I had your problem,” he said, shifting the subject. “There’s nothing much else to do than eat in my line of work. At least there’s no weight limit to being a cargo pilot.”

He ran a hand over his gut, patting its round side. Fuck, his stomach looked so swollen already, and here he was, abusing it with even more food. On some level, he’d grown so used to feeling full that eating less just didn’t satisfy him. Lance scoffed; there must be something seriously wrong with him, but--he felt the happiest with his belly full and sated.

He became aware of the silence as it stretched on, and glanced up to see Hunk studiously staring at the screen.  _ He must think I’m such a mess,  _ Lance thought. He stifled a burp behind a fist, and went for the last slice.

“You know,” he said, taking his beer in one hand and the pizza in the other, “I never thought I’d see the day when I beat Hunk Garrett in his own game. Didn’t your motto used to be  _ no leftovers _ ?” He leaned in closer so he could nudge Hunk with his elbow, and when their eyes met, he smirked. “Oh, how the times change.”

For a moment, Lance thought he’d gone too far again, but then he saw a budding smile on Hunk’s lips. “I--you know, I don’t think they’ve changed  _ that _ much.” His eyes took a detour to the food Lance was still holding, his gaze keen and calculating; Hunk shifted on his seat, like he’d wanted to face him but changed his mind halfway, then turned his attention to the rest of his pizza.

Lance saw him touch his middle--a simple, unconscious gesture, like he was used to rubbing his gut while thinking. The light press of his palm reveal a small, but clearly full looking stomach underneath his loose shirt, and Lance--he couldn’t look away. He watched Hunk knead his stuffed middle with an experienced hand; he remembered how Hunk had used to do that when he’d gone deep into his dinner at the Garrison cafeteria, only now there was a lot less to knead. His hand looked obscenely big on top of that tiny belly.

Hunk moved his hand away--sooner than Lance would have liked--and his gaze shifted back to Lance. “You want me to do yours too?”

Lance froze. “What?” he squawked.

Hunk pointed to his pizza. “I’m gonna heat this up a bit, you want me to warm that one slice up for you, too?”

“ _ Oh _ . Oh, um, sure.”

Hunk gave him a grin and collected the pizza from his hand, then stood up. “You got a microwave there, right?” It wasn’t really a question, as Hunk was already moving towards the kitchen without waiting for his reply.

Lance stared after him until he heard Hunk open the micro door, then gave a full body shudder and sunk back to the couch, his whole body burning up with shame. He brought the beer to his lips and drank until it was empty, then rested the bottle on his thigh with a sigh.

What the hell had he been thinking? Lance touched the side of his gut, kneading it lightly, trying to chase away the feverish image of Hunk’s hand on his skin--what the  _ hell _ had he been  _ thinking _ ? The movement brought some air gurgling up from his full stomach, and he belched a few times; he wasn’t worried about fitting the last slice in, but there was no denying that his belly was starting to feel pretty packed.

Hunk was back in minutes. He gave Lance a grin as he handed him back his pizza and a fresh beer; he seemed to have found a plate for the food from Lance’s kitchen. “Thought you might need a refill,” he said.

Lance blushed. “Well, dig in then. Show me the master at work,” he teased, trying to quench his excitement.

Hunk’s smile was almost devious. “Like you’ve never seen this before.”

Lance gave him a head start, watching him go for the first of the four slices left on his plate with great enthusiasm. His mouth felt dry, so he twisted the cap off his drink and let the cold beer wash away his nerves. This was the old Hunk he knew--happy to indulge, not skimping on meals. Lance wasn’t jealous of his lean frame, not really, but something about it felt off to him. Not like  _ his  _ Hunk. He turned his gaze back to the game, thoughtfully munching on his pizza until it was all gone.

He  _ tried _ not pay attention to the way Hunk went through his pizza, but his eyes kept darting over to him every time he saw movement in the corner of his eye. One slice, two slices... His pace was slower than Lance’s, and by the time he was on his second to last, Lance realized he was really struggling to get it all down.

He licked his lips. “You need help with that, champ?” he asked, not entirely serious, grinning at Hunk as he turned to look at him.

Hunk’s eyes moved down, then quickly back up; the color on his face deepened and he sounded breathless when he spoke, “You--” he started, hesitating a moment, then smiled. “You’re still not full?” He quirked his brow up. “Looks like there’s a new king about to be crowned.”

“Hand me that slice, and I’ll show you,” Lance replied before he knew what he was saying.

_ What was he  _ doing?

Hunk’s smile turned into a smirk; in that moment, he looked more like himself than he had all night--there had always been that layer of  _ intensity _ in Hunk when it came to food, and right now, his eyes were shining with a familiar challenge. He offered the plate to Lance and he accepted the pizza from it, feeling like he was about to do something very stupid but unable to stop himself.

“Watch and learn,” he said, taking a bigger bite than intended, settling back to leaning against the couch.

And Hunk did. His eyes lingered on Lance’s form, his gaze making his heart race wildly. He kept waiting for Hunk to call him out, crack a joke or something, but in the end, he turned away without a word; somehow, that didn’t make Lance feel relieved at all.

He couldn’t keep down the hiccup that followed the last bit of crust when he swallowed it, and when he was about to say something, a burp escaped instead. “‘Scuse me,” he said, hiccuping again, and again a moment later, finally feeling the side effects of his gluttony.

Hunk collapsed next to him with a grunt, splaying both hands on his stomach. There was now a definite bulge showing through his thin shirt, and Lance was struck with how achingly familiar it all felt: all those times when they’d shared a couch, or a bed, or just sat across each other on a table at the cafeteria, two good friends beached together with their full bellies... Except in those memories,  _ he _ had been the one pleading for Hunk to pick up his leftovers and finish for him.

“All done?”

Hunk turned his head towards him, and grinned. “All done. Thanks for the help, man.”

Lance felt a thrill at the idea that he had actually out-eaten  _ Hunk _ . His head was swimming like he’d been drinking hard liquor instead of just beer, his body heavy and drowsy with all the pizza weighing him down; his mind went back to the image that had permeated his brain earlier--Hunk’s hand kneading on his full gut, patting it for a job well done.

_ You want me to do yours too? _

Lance couldn’t take it anymore. He rose up, clumsy, wincing as the fullness of his stomach protested against the move.

“Where are you going?” Hunk asked.

“Uh, bathroom.” He forced himself to smile, then hoisted himself up.

Every step drove in the point--he had overdone it for the night. His gut felt so swollen and full; the moment Hunk couldn’t see him, Lance pressed his hand on it to keep it from jiggling as he moved. By the time he reached the bathroom and locked himself in, he was grimacing, out of breath and yearning to just rip his jeans off and collapse.

But before he popped the button, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Turning slowly, Lance felt his breath catch at the sight--he looked so  _ big.  _ The low-rising mirror provided ample view of the bloated gut that protruded from below his chest in a huge round arch, the tight waistband of his jeans digging into his soft hips and making the love handles on each side look bigger than ever; the hoodie he was wearing was luckily stretchy, but it had ridden up at the bottom to reveal a sliver of his undershirt, and the plump hang of his belly was clearly visible beneath it. Feeling almost delirious, Lance took in the damage, heating coursing through his veins with each frantic beat of his heart.

_ Way to make a good impression _ , he thought, sliding his fingers over the soft bulge of fat above the waistband. It wasn’t like he’d thought he would somehow win Hunk over if he ever came back, but--that was  _ definitely  _ not happening now.

His face was beat red when he thought about every time Hunk had looked at him, flushing with embarrassment only to turn his eyes away--he had always been too kind not to delve into other people’s business.

He was a good friend.

Lance tried to shake himself out of the gloominess--Hunk’s return had thrown him off the deep end with the force and sureness of a plane crash, and everything felt weird and jittery in the aftermath of the impact. He’d thought missing Hunk was bad, but having him here and yet  _ not _ having him, was a new kind of hell to go through with.

But he would manage it. Somehow.

Lance steeled himself, popping the button of his jeans with some difficulty. The relief was so palpable that he sighed, feeling suddenly very tired. He rubbed the lines on his skin where the waistband had left its mark while he relieved himself, then went to button them up.

“Oh, fuck it.”

With another sigh, he stripped the jeans off and grabbed the sweatpants he had hanging in the hook behind him. There was no use torturing himself any longer--who was he trying to impress, anyway?

  
  
  
  
  
  


The next morning, Lance woke up when his alarm went off; he shut it down after the third beep, squinting at the screen to make out the time--why had he set it ringing on the weekend, anyway?

Oh, right.

Lance rolled off his bed, blinking off the shreds of sleep from his eyes. Today was Thursday, not the weekend, and he had work. He momentarily thought about calling in sick, but--then flashes of the previous night made their way to his consciousness, and he grimaced. As tempting as spending the day chilling with his best friend sounded, Lance needed a timeout. Work would be enough distraction for him to realign himself.

He slipped in the bathroom to take a shower and shave, then ransacked his laundry for another pair of jeans; he’d bought them a few months back, so they would fit him better than last night’s pair. As he pulled them on, he made a mental note to go shopping after work--if Hunk’s presence had him eating like this all the time, he was going to need a new wardrobe and fast.

Lance glanced at his image in the fogged up mirror. His gut still looked bloated, his stomach round and swollen under his soft chest. He couldn’t keep his hand from it--slowly, he ran his fingers down the slope of it, grasping the fat flesh to shake it lightly. Lance heaved a gasp, then shook his head; fuck, he should be planning on a  _ diet, _ not on buying bigger clothes. Eventually Hunk would question him about all this, and what was Lance going to say? That he--maybe sort of  _ liked _ the weight he’d gained? He felt his skin tingle at the thought, like he’d touched a live wire, and Lance dropped his hand, forcing himself to look away.

He stopped by the bedroom to finish getting dressed, then headed towards the kitchen. But as he entered the living room, he saw that Hunk was already awake; he was sitting on the edge of the sofa bed, leaning his arms against his legs. There was something defeated about his pose, his shoulders hunched and his eyes hidden.

“Oh, you’re up early? Sorry if I woke you up,” Lance said.

Hunk startled at his voice, glancing up in surprise. “Oh, no. It’s okay. I’m an early riser nowadays.”

Lance raised his brow at that; he remembered quite freshly how often he’d had to wake Hunk up so he wouldn’t miss his morning classes. “Really?”

Hunk face softened into a smile. “Yeah,” he said.

“Huh.” Lance shrugged, turning towards the kitchen. “I’m gonna make some coffee, you want some?”

“Uh, sure.”

He heard Hunk get up and follow him to the kitchen, so he kept talking. “Feel free to make some in the morning if you wake up before me. Same with breakfast. I’ll show you where I keep everything.”

“Hey,” Hunk started, and Lance stopped to look at him, one hand on the handle of the pantry door. “Are you sure this is fine? I mean, I can look for a hotel if you--”

“No way, dude,” Lance cut him off. “I’m not gonna let you stay in some crappy hotel room somewhere, unless--that’s what you want?” He frowned, trying to see through Hunk’s expression.

Hunk glanced away, then shook his head, his eyes returning to Lance. “Not really. I don’t--I don’t really know what I want right now.”

_ That makes two of us _ , Lance thought; out loud, he said, “You’ll figure it out. In the meantime, we’ll catch up, ride the nostalgia train, you know. Chill like the old times, yeah?” He flashed a grin at Hunk, and when finally Hunk smiled in reply, he turned his attention back to the coffee, feeling relieved. “This cabinet has all the dry stuff, you can take a look after I’m gone. There’s bread on the table, and you can check the fridge for the rest. Oh, and there’s some frozen stuff in the freezer, if you don’t feel like going out for lunch, and--here’s the coffee.” He pulled out a pack of instant capsules, showing it to Hunk with a grimace. “Hope you’re fine with instant,” he said.

“Sounds perfect,” Hunk replied.

Lance scoffed. “Not even close, but it’ll get you going in the morning.” He loaded the coffee machine and set to making two cups. Over his shoulder, he said, “You got any plans for work yet?”

“Not really. I guess I should look for something but... I don’t know, man.”

Lance bit on his lip, pausing for a moment, then steeled himself to say, “Hey, you want me to ask my company? I mean, they always have use for a good mechanic.”

“Oh, really?”

He turned around with the first cup done and saw that Hunk was grinning at him. “Sure! I mean, you’re the best there is, right?” He winked and handed Hunk his coffee.

“I don’t know about that...”

“Oh, shush, I know you.” Lance silenced him with a wave of his hand. “I’ll put in a good word, we’ll be working together in no time.” As he said it, he felt a spike of excitement course through him; having Hunk as his work mate would be  _ sweet _ , but--he would probably want something more out of his life than that, right? This was just a temporary solution until he got back on his feet.

Lance felt his smile dim as he went back to making his own coffee, and after a moment, he continued, “I mean, just until you find something better? You can stay here until you figure out where you wanna live and so on.”

“Yeah. Sounds like a plan.”

Lance took a sip of his coffee, glancing at the clock on the microwave. “ _ Shit _ ,” he cursed, almost burning his tongue. “I should probably get going.”

“No breakfast?”

Lance shot Hunk a look, flushing at the way Hunk was looking at him, like he was disappointed they didn’t get to share a breakfast. “I’ll grab something on the way,” he muttered quickly. “You help yourself from the fridge, okay?”

“Sure, and hey--thanks.”

“No problem.” Lance finished his coffee as he headed out, only stopping at the doorway to ask, “You want me to pick some takeout for dinner?”

Hunk hesitated only a second before replying. “Actually, I’d like to cook something. You know, as a thank you?” He smiled at Lance unsurely, but he never found out what Hunk was afraid he’d say.

“ _ Dude _ ,” he said, a smile spreading on his lips. “Be my guest, buddy. Do your worst. I mean, you gotta pay rent  _ somehow _ , right?”

Hunk’s expression wavered, until settling on a big grin. “Sure thing,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “Have a good day.”

Lance smirked. “Thanks, babe.” He blew Hunk a kiss, then escaped before he could see the blush on his face.

Fuck. If Hunk was going to start cooking for him? He would have to buy his wardrobe in a size up.


	2. Sweet & Salty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The tags have been updated and the rating for this fic has been raised from M to E. Also, the chapter count is up (and probably will go up again) because things just got too long... The next chapter is 2/3 done, so expect another update in a week or two!
> 
> Also, shout out to the two amazing people who've gifted me with art for this fic: swbarainc @ tumblr drew [these dolts meeting in chapter 1](https://swbarainc.tumblr.com/post/158918236474/missing-meals-and-second-helpings-if-you-like) and my lovely Chubstilinski made art for [a scene in this chapter (mild spoilers)](https://chubeveryone.tumblr.com/post/159582687085/i-drew-one-of-my-fave-parts-from-a-scene-in-the). Thanks for the cheerleading, love ya both~♥

“Are you ready?” Lance asked, pulling his car to a stop on the parking lot outside the  _ CargoLunar  _ shipping bay. He saw Hunk wipe his hands on his knees and gave him a smirk. “You’re not actually nervous, are you?”

Hunk glanced at him, wincing slightly. “Uh, kinda.”

“Hey, it’s gonna be good. Everyone will like you, trust me. And the job isn’t anything you can’t handle.” He gave Hunk a pat on his leg. “Let’s go.”

As they walked through the doors and into the shipping company’s quarters, Lance had to admit that actually,  _ he  _ was nervous. Not because he thought Hunk wouldn’t fit in there--the workers were nice people for the most part, and Hunk had always been well liked--but he felt weirdly anxious about sharing this side of his life with Hunk. Maybe he wouldn’t like it. Maybe he’d get bored. Maybe he’d quit in a week’s time and leave.

_ This is only temporary _ , he tried to remind himself, but the knot in his gut stayed tight and relentless.

“The locker room is this way,” he said, gesturing for Hunk to follow him. “You can get changed first and I’ll show you to the office so you can pick up your card and shit. They’ll take care of the rest.”

Hunk nodded, trailing behind him. “So you’re gonna be gone until your shift ends, then?”

“Yeah, flying out in half an hour,” he said. “The loaders are usually tight on their schedule. Fred who runs the show down there, he’s like military about it.” He flashed a grin at Hunk. “Kinda reminds me of old man Iverson, you’ll see what I mean.”

Hunk grimaced. “Are the mechanics like that too?”

“Nah, man, relax. They’re cool, much more chill than the loading bay crew.”

“How about the pilots?”

Lance shrugged. “A mixed bunch.” He stopped in front of the locker room door and peered in to see if anyone was there, before opening it fully. He gave a lopsided grin at Hunk. “Some bad, some good, but mostly they’re okay.” Hunk smiled back at him, but Lance knew him well enough to see the strain behind it; he still looked anxious. “Tragically, you’ll have to wait to meet them--there’s no one else in right now.” He cocked his head at the door. “C’mon, I need to get changed.”

It had been almost two weeks since Hunk’s surprise return. Just like Lance had predicted, the company did have a part time opening in the mech department, and though it was probably below Hunk’s usual pay grade, he had taken the job. The interview had been last week, and by Friday, they’d been celebrating Hunk’s new employment.

Today, it was Hunk’s first day. Everything was happening so fast.

Lance showed him to an empty locker and unlocked his own; Hunk had brought his own coveralls, which was probably wise as Lance knew from experience how limited the company’s size range was. As he bent over to pull off his jeans, he felt his gut squish against his legs, and absentmindedly grabbed it as he straightened up. It felt--softer.  _ Bigger. _ His eyes darted to his flight suit; he was probably due an upgrade soon enough if this kept up.

It was scary how easily Hunk had fit into his life. After that first night, he’d been worried about things turning weird between them, but everything had worked out well so far. More than well. It was so  _ nice _ to have Hunk back; they had foregone the heavy subjects and just relaxed back to their old banter, spending the nights talking and chilling. If Lance didn’t know any better, he’d say he was goddamn happy right now.

He folded his jeans and stuffed them in his locker, taking out his flight suit. He usually wore it with just an undershirt and some boxers; the fabric was thick enough to keep him warm during flights. He hooked his legs in one by one, then pulled the suit over his shoulders, trying to ignore the way his belly jiggled under his shirt with every movement he made.

It was all Hunk’s fault. Lance had known his friend was a great chef, but he hadn’t been prepared for what was coming at him when he’d asked for Hunk to be in charge of the cooking. He’d gotten to know Hunk’s skills during their years as roommates; Hunk’s mother owned a restaurant, and even with just the hot plate they’d had in their room, he’d blown all of Lance’s attempts away. The mini fridge in their room had always been stocked with easy ingredients, and Lance had come to learn that Hunk could whip up almost anything into a meal if he felt like cooking--that skill had certainly come in handy on those nights when they’d missed dinner while caught up playing games on Lance’s console.

But none of that had prepared Lance for the full force of Hunk’s cooking. That first night after Hunk’s return, Lance had come home to a house smelling like an Italian restaurant and found Hunk in the kitchen, finishing up a sauce that looked like it had taken hours to make; turned out Hunk had made it from stuff he’d found in Lance’s kitchen--he hadn’t even gone shopping. It was the most delicious pasta Lance had eaten in  _ years. _

And it had only gotten worse since then. Hunk was a master of stir fry, a king of creating hearty meals, and after three nights in a row with Hunk making dinner, Lance had been forced to suggest a takeout night because his stomach simply couldn’t handle how much he was eating. At least with takeout, he could regain  _ some _ control over his portion sizes.

He pushed the hem of his undershirt down, then reached under his belly to pull the zipper up. He was used to sucking in to make suiting up easier, but today--that just wasn’t enough.  

Lance glanced down when the zipper got caught, but all he could see was his gut, spilling out between the two sides of his suit. A flush spread on his cheeks; Lance ignored it as he yanked the zipper out from where it had gotten stuck, then tried again, sucking in harder. This time, the zipper flew up past the widest point with the force of his pull, and he almost managed to hit himself in the face with his hand. “Motherf--”

“Everything okay?”

Lance threw a glance at Hunk; he was sitting on the bench, halfway through changing. “Yeah, yeah.” He wasn’t about to admit to Hunk that he was having trouble with his suit, but he could feel Hunk’s eyes on him as he shifted around, trying to make the suit fit better. It wasn’t just the waist region that felt tighter--it seemed like the suit had shrunk all around, clinging more closely to his upper body and legs as well; it probably looked ridiculous on him. Lance sighed. “The zipper’s just acting up,” he mumbled, not looking at Hunk as he pulled on his boots.

“Oh,” was all Hunk said, but when Lance looked at him, he saw Hunk’s eyes fixed on his form, like he couldn’t look away.

_ Fuck _ . Lance didn’t want to draw any more attention to his hopelessly expanding waistline than it was already getting, but there was no ignoring it when his suit felt this tight. As he straightened up, he turned to look at his reflection in the mirror above the sink--he was far away to see most of his body in it, and--yeah, he looked pretty big.

Lance felt a thrill run down his spine, his hand touching his gut in a fleeting gesture. It looked like all the food he’d been eating recently had gone to his belly, making it rounder and fuller than before; with so much more on the front, the seams around his waist were pulled tight, fitting between the rolls forming around his waist. Jesus, he was starting to look  _ fat. _

He grasped his gut, then shot Hunk a look. “Maybe you should’ve let me skip breakfast, after all,” he said, patting his belly to make his point.

“But--” Hunk’s eyes darted up, an apologizing smile spreading on his lips. “Breakfast is important.”

“Says you.” Lance huffed, letting his hand drop. “Doesn’t mean you should make me one every day.”

Hunk let out a chuckle. “I can make you something lighter for dinner, if you--”

“Uh, no need for that,” Lance cut him off quickly; he didn’t want Hunk to get the wrong impression. He forced a smile on his lips, but it felt strange in his burning face. “I’ll cut back when you move out.” 

The truth was, he  _ loved _ Hunk cooking for him. He could hardly bear the idea that he’d have to give it up--the fact that one day in the near future he’d have to do so anyway was enough to make him want to eat everything Hunk put in front of him. Though how much of that was the food being seriously delicious, and how much it being specifically made for  _ him,  _ Lance wasn’t sure. “I wanna enjoy it while it lasts,” he said, trying not to sound as sentimental as he felt.

“Lance--” Hunk started, but his words were cut off by the door to the locker room suddenly flying open. They both turned to look as two men in flying suits walked inside, stopping at the sight of them.

The first one was Dietrich, whose face brightened up at seeing Lance. “Oh, good morning!” He gave him a grin and a wave. “Thought you’d be by the docks already, they’re eager to get going.”

Lance glanced at the clock on the wall. “Oh, shit,” he said, grimacing. “Good call.”

“Better hurry up before Fred starts missing you.” He smirked and gave Lance a clap on the shoulder on his way to his locker. But instead of opening it, he turned his attention to Hunk. “You’re the new mechanic, right?”

It took Hunk a moment to realize Dietrich was talking to him. He looked almost dazed, his expression hard to read except for the blush on his cheeks, but he quickly straightened his face as he focused on Dietrich. “Who, me? Oh yeah, that’s--that is me,” he said, smiling in that awkward way that told Lance he was silently freaking out.

“You’re Lance’s friend, right?” 

For a second, Hunk looked surprised. “Um, yeah. We go way back.”

Dietrich hummed, glancing away, and for a moment, Lance thought he would shut up and leave Hunk alone. No such luck.

“So then you must be the same friend who’s been keeping Lance from our dates, huh?”

Lance couldn’t see Dietrich’s face from where he stood, but he knew that tone--the man was a perpetual shit talker. He suddenly didn’t want him to be the first person to talk to Hunk. “Hey, fuck off,” he groaned, “no one’s keeping me off anything.”

“Aw, come on, you’ve been blowing us off for the last two weeks, what did you expect? That we don’t get  _ jealous _ ?” Dietrich smirked at him, then turned back to Hunk. He pointed back to Lance with his thumb and said, “This dude used to be a regular at our poker nights until you came along. Can’t believe he’s missed two nights in a row now!”

Hunk’s eyes darted from Dietrich to Lance and back. “Uh. Sorry?”

There was a beat of silence, then Dietrich busted out laughing like this whole exchange was the funniest thing in the world. Lance rolled his eyes--what the fuck was his problem?

“Sorry, dude, I’m just messing with you. I mean--” Dietrich leaned back, appraising Hunk with his eyes. “--I don’t blame him. You’re a good looking guy. Right, Morris? Ain’t this dude just too good looking?”

The young black man who’d hung back to watch the scene now lifted both his arms in a shrug. “I’m not gay, but the dude’s a looker, all right,” Morris agreed, shaking his head in amusement.

“Right, see? I guess we just can’t compete when someone like you shows up.” Dietrich tutted, then grinned at the both of them.

Lance saw Hunk’s expression flicker, his face flushed under his dark skin. He looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him. “I said fuck off,  _ Richie, _ ” Lance said, stepping to Dietrich’s side; he knew the man hated the nickname, which made it perfect use for when he pissed you off. “You’re not as funny as you think, Jesus.”

“Hey, hey, I’m sorry,” Dietrich quickly backed off, his shit eating grin turning into a more controlled smirk. “I was just talking, chill.”

Lance ignored him. “We should get going,” he said to Hunk, who nodded stiffly and stood up to finish getting dressed; he zipped up his coveralls in a flash, like he wanted to hide his body from their eyes.

But before they could leave, Dietrich stopped Hunk with his arm stuck out for a handshake. “Sorry, bro, seems like we got off on the wrong foot. I’m Dietrich--only assholes call me Richie.” He winked at Lance, and Lance returned the favor by flipping him off.

Hunk hesitated just a beat, then took his offered hand. “Hunk,” he said, his face composed but guarded. “Hunk Garrett.”

“ _ Hunk? _ ” Lance saw Dietrich’s shoulders stiffen; his voice was full of suppressed laughter when he continued, “That’s, uh, that’s quite a fitting name.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake...” Lance rolled his eyes, and heaved a sigh. “Come on, Hunk, just ignore him.”

“Hey, McClain! You should bring this  _ hunk _ to the game on Friday, yeah? Or we could have beers some other night? Morris, back me up here--”

The rest of Dietrich’s words were cut off as Lance pulled the locker room door shut behind them. He let out an exhale, shaking his head. “Fucker,” he muttered, then nodded his head back towards the same corridor they had come in. “The office is this way, I’ll show you in but we need to hustle.”

Hunk followed him, taking a place by his side. “Who was that guy?” he asked after a moment.

“A fuckhead.” Lance sighed; he had hoped for a smoother start for Hunk’s first day. “Dietrich Smith. He’s one of the pilots, mostly works the night shift.”

“Is he one of the good bunch, then, or the bad? Seemed like you guys are friends.”

Lance grimaced. “‘Friends’ is a strong word.” He shrugged. “Work friends, maybe. You know, we play poker and drink beer, talk shit. That kind of friends.”

“So, when he said ‘dates’--”

“--He definitely didn’t mean we’re actually dating,” Lance finished for him, scowling at the idea.

“Do you think he has a crush on you?”

“What?” Lance stopped on his tracks, staring at Hunk incredulously. “How should I know?”

Hunk rolled his shoulders in a shrug. “I don’t know, just seemed like, uh...” He trailed off into silence, looking uncomfortable.

“Well, doesn’t matter. I don’t like him, and I don’t date guys.”

Immediately after saying it, he flinched.  _ Yeah, you’re just hopelessly in love with one _ , he thought with a pang, turning back to the corridor so Hunk couldn’t see his face.

“Yeah,” Hunk said quietly. “I guess I should know that.”

“Yeah,” Lance echoed. He started forward again; the company’s office space was just around the corner, but he was already running late--he could set Hunk straight later. Not that he was looking forward to that conversation, but... Hunk was his best friend, and he hated keeping secrets from him. It was enough to be harboring a major crush on the guy; he didn’t need Hunk to think he was something he was not.

The thought of telling Hunk made his insides squirm with anxiety, and Lance frowned, picking up his pace. He was just about to round the last corner when Hunk said, “Maybe we should go, then? I’d like to know who your friends are.”

Lance groaned. “I don’t know, dude, you really want to? After all that bullshit?”

“Yeah, I mean, why not?”

“Because--” He tried to rack his brain for an excuse that didn’t sounds childish and petulant, but nothing came up. He gave up with a sigh. “Fuck. Okay, maybe. But--I really need to go now. You just go through that door, the ladies there will get you signed in.” He pointed towards the glass door leading to the office space, taking a step back himself. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

“Oh, okay,” Hunk said. Suddenly, he frowned, and gave Lance a careful look. “So... you’re not gonna be here for lunch?”

Lance shot him a look back. “Dude, I should probably be skipping lunch altogether, with the way this suit fits.” He somehow managed to say it without blushing. “Maybe you should worry about your own meals for a change.”

Hunk chuckled, his lips forming into an awkward smile. “But lunch is important too--”

Lance snorted. “You’re unbelievable,” he said, grinning at Hunk’s face. “But yeah, don’t worry. I’m gonna grab something when I land on M2B. They do great lunch burgers there.”

“Oh! I wish I could go with you,” Hunk said, perking up at the mention of food; he looked wistful for a moment, like he’d do anything for a chance to fly out with Lance.

A warm feeling spread through him. “Maybe one day.” He smiled, already turning to leave. “It’s not too uncommon to have a mechanic for a ride along.”

“I’ll see you later!” Hunk called after him.

“Yeah, see you.”

As soon as he turned the corner, Lance started to rush--well, as much as he could. The breakfast Hunk had prepared that morning had been a testament to his fraying nerves: his stress baking had produced a pan full of warm, fluffy coconut rolls, and Lance had  _ maybe  _ had one too many in his gluttony. He wanted to press a hand on his middle, but didn’t dare to in case someone saw him.

When finally he arrived at the cargo bay, he was flushed and out of breath; it didn’t help the matter that in his hurry, he’d become more than aware of the new weight he’d piled on. There was just more  _ jiggle _ everywhere, and it was, to Lance’s great surprise, turning him on in the weirdest way.

He wiped a hand across his forehead, rolling his shoulders as he stopped to compose himself.  _ Get a grip _ , Lance told himself, trying to push all the shit in his head to background noise--he’d have plenty of time to mull over it during flight hours.

  
  
  
  
  


“So, what’s the plan? Change of clothes and head back out?”

Lance nodded, taking off his jacket and hanging it on the clothes rack. “Yeah,” he said; the tone of his voice described his lack of enthusiasm perfectly.

In less than two weeks, Lance had run out of excuses to put off the inevitable so today, they were going out for beers with Dietrich, Morris, and a couple of guys from the mechanics’ side. It wasn’t Friday, so no poker, but Lance still felt like he was about to lose at  _ something  _ tonight. “Let’s say half an hour?” he said, his feet leading him straight for the kitchen.

He scanned the fridge for something to eat; he wasn’t strictly speaking hungry, but he felt like eating something. When nothing in the fridge seemed appealing, he shut to door and looked around the counters. His eyes settled on a round, foil covered pan left on the stove-- _ bingo _ . Lance grabbed a knife and peeled the foil back to reveal half of a crumble topped pie.

He smiled, anticipating the sweet taste on his tongue as he cut off a generous slice. He’d already had some yesterday, and he had to admit: Hunk sure knew how to bake. This peaches and cream filled pie was the best incarnation of his tried and true recipe so far--Lance had enjoyed each and every one Hunk had made since coming to live with him, but there was something about the soft creamy filling with the juicy slices of peach baked in that left him craving more.

Just when he had his mouth full of pie, he heard Hunk’s voice from behind him.

“Are you hungry?”

Lance turned around, half a slice of pie in one hand and a guilty look on his face. “Um, no,” he said around the bite, swallowing his mouth clear. Hunk raised his brow, his eyes moving from Lance to the pie; he quickly shoved the rest of it in his mouth, and grinned. “Wow, you look great.”

Hunk had been quick; he had changed his jeans for dark slacks, and was currently buttoning up a rich blue shirt that brought out his thick arms and broad shoulders. The shirt fit him closer than most of his clothes, and Lance’s eyes were drawn to the plump little belly on his middle. He’d thought Hunk looked a little  _ softer _ lately, but he still wasn’t used to him being this lean, so it was hard to tell if he was imagining things.

“Thanks, bro. It’s not too much, is it?” Hunk tugged at his shirt, smiling at Lance.

He gave a shrug. “Maybe a bit, but you look nice so--go for it.” He chewed on his lip as he gave Hunk another lookover--he really did look  _ nice. _ Lance turned around to cut another pie slice. He needed something to distract himself.

“Are you  _ sure _ you don’t want to eat before we leave?”

Lance waved him off, mouth full of pie as he headed back to the fridge and got himself a drink. “No, it’s fine. The bar’s got a pretty good snack menu, and I’m gonna be drinking anyway, so...” He cracked open the can of coke and drank, then continued, “This is fine.”

“If you’re gonna be drinking, then all the more reason to eat before.” Hunk crossed his arms, but Lance just smirked, shaking his head.

“Hunk, it’s fine. Like I said, they have a menu. Nachos, fries, onion rings, you name it.”

Hunk eyed him for a moment, then sighed. “Fine,” he said, shrugging. “I guess I need to eat something too, so might as well order when we get there.”

He pressed a hand over his stomach, like he was testing it for hunger, and Lance’s gaze was drawn back to Hunk’s middle; he stuffed the last piece of pie into his mouth, a sudden wave of heat reminding him that he’d meant to take a shower before they left. Lance turned to the pie, again, glancing at Hunk as he said, “You want some of this, too?”

“Nah, you can have it.” Hunk shook his head, letting his hand drop; Lance thought he saw a smirk crossing Hunk’s lips.

“Suit yourself, dude. Your loss.” He looked down at the pie, and cut off a thin slice, leaving an even quarter left in the pan. “I’m gonna take a quick shower, give me 15 minutes.” He took the slice with him as he left Hunk waiting and headed for the bathroom; on the way there, he ate the pie in two bites, savoring the sugary taste before washing it down with the rest of his coke.

Well, at least now he  _ definitely _ wasn’t hungry.

If he hadn’t just given Hunk the time frame for their departure, Lance would have stayed in the shower until he’d finished jacking off. He palmed his dick with a soap slick hand, his other hand grasping his gut roughly, making him gasp at the double sensation. He’d been feeling softer too, lately,  _ much _ softer, and it was no wonder with the way he’d been eating. Lance gave his dick a tight squeeze and stroked it slowly, kneading his pie bloated gut with the other; his body was tense with lust, but he forced himself to stop--he didn’t have time for this right now.

He still couldn’t stop himself from feeling how  plush his body had become as he washed it, how his flesh jiggled as he toweled off and got dressed. When he finally looked at himself in the bedroom mirror, all he could think was  _ big.  _ He looked big. He tried to will the blush away from his face, then decided to blame it on the recent showering.

Twenty minutes had passed when he reappeared to the living room. “Ready to go?” he asked Hunk, who was lounging on the couch, flipping through the channels on the big screen.

Hunk sat up and looked at him, his eyes traveling down Lance’s body. He resisted the urge to tug at his shirt; he knew exactly how the blue henley clung to his round belly, leaving no guess work as to where all food he was eating was going.

Hunk’s eyes darted up. “You look--”

“Don’t say ‘nice’,” Lance tried to interject, but it was no good.

“--nice. Uh.”

Lance sighed. “That bad, huh?” He glanced down at his belly, rubbing it briefly before letting go. “I know it ain’t great, but I don’t think I can fit into any of my ‘nicer’ shirts.”

“Lance, you look good,” Hunk tried, but Lance wasn’t having it.

He waved Hunk off, walking across the room, defiantly ignoring the jiggle of his belly under the soft shirt. “It ain’t a beauty contest, so who cares,” he said gruffly. He didn’t need Hunk’s reassurances; he knew he was in a rough shape, so there was no point in trying to hide it. “C’mon, let’s get going.”

 

 

  
  
They had decided to take the shuttle to the area where the bar resided, not far from the company’s lot. Lance knew he wasn’t going to be in any shape to drive when they were done for the night, and since Hunk’s licence had expired while he was traveling, the best bet was to leave the car at home. 

He’d have preferred driving, though. It was easier to quell his nerves behind a familiar steering wheel and let the traffic distract him. Lance frowned to himself as he glared out of the shuttle window. Why was he so nervous in the first place? He knew these guys. Even Hunk had already made his acquaintances with the lot--Lance had seen him and Dietrich talking a couple of times, seemingly in good terms. There was no reason for him to feel like--like he was introducing the guys to a new  _ date, _ instead of an old friend. Lance shut his eyes for a moment, trying to get his head under control.

“Listen, we can cancel if you’d rather not do this,” Hunk said beside him. He sounded so considerate, Lance wanted to kick himself.

“Sorry, I’m just--tired, is all.” Lance grimaced; he was being such a spoil sport. “Why’d you go and say yes, though. I thought you didn’t like Dietrich.”

“Sorry, dude. He kind of ambushed me when I was talking with Jackson and Stevens--they were asking the same thing, so I, I couldn’t say no to three people all at once...” Hunk chuckled, looking at his hands.

“It’s fine,” Lance said.

“I--I don’t dislike him, you know. Dietrich? If he’s your friend--”

“ _ Work friend. _ ”

“--fine, work friend, I’d still like to get to know him.”

Lance turned to look back outside. “I don’t know him that well, either. He’s been with the company less than a year, I think he was doing something else before that.” He realized he should probably know more about a guy he’d spent so many nights drinking with, but--their relationship didn’t go that far.

“Do  _ you  _ not like him?”

Lance sighed. “I like him fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“Okay,” Hunk said after a moment of quiet. “Just, you know. Tell me if you want to go home.”

He kept his eyes on the passing scenery, drumming his fingers on the hand rest of the seat. It was still early in the evening, and the sunlight fell mercilessly on the dusty streets rolling by below the shuttle line. The rainy season hadn’t started yet; everything was so dry. Lance swallowed--as much as he was dreading this meeting, he sure was ready for a cold drink.

  
  
  
  
  


_ The Silver Surfer  _ was, by name, a surf bar. Inside the establishment, the name went as far as a couple of dusty surf boards hung up on the walls, with faded plastic palm trees lodged in the corners to create atmosphere. The music that played too loudly in the half empty bar was slightly more modern that the decor, but only slightly. It wasn’t swanky, or even all that welcoming, but it was cozy, with cheap beer and a good shelf of tequila if the evening called for something sharper. Lance had been introduced to the bar soon after he’d started working for the company, and over time, he’d grown surprisingly fond of it--it was a good place for drinks after a long shift was done.

He didn’t need to look far to find their company. His eyes went straight to the booths at the back of the bar, where the  _ CargoLunar  _ workers usually hung out, and he immediately spotted the familiar frames of his work mates. “There they are,” Lance said, pointing behind the pool table, but he threw his hand out to stop Hunk before he could head there. “Let’s order first,” he said, guiding him to the bar.

Hunk followed his lead silently until they got to the counter. “You going to get food already, or--”

“Just getting a drink first. But you can get food if you’re hungry. Here,” he said, snatching a plastic menu from the bar and handing it to him. He ordered a beer for himself, and glanced at the back table again as the bartender served him.

“Umm...” Hunk hummed next to him, sounding apprehensive, and Lance turned his attention back to him.

“Nothing grabbing your fancy?” He leaned closer, though he knew the list by heart; they hadn’t changed it since he’d first come here. “Trust me, the food here’s better than you’d expect.”  

Hunk glanced at him. “I can wait till you get something too, I’m not--”

“Dude, just get something. You don’t have to wait for me.” Lance flashed him a grin, tapping on the menu. “The nachos here are pretty solid, and they’re big, too. But don’t worry about that--I’ll eat the leftovers if you can’t finish it.”

Hunk’s eyes drifted over Lance’s features, like he was trying to read him, and he was thankful for the chance to look away when the bartender hit the pint in front of him. Why did it feel like every time it came to food, nowadays, it felt like a competition? Like he was trying to _ impress _ Hunk by eating everything in sight, which--was insane, wasn’t it? All he’d get from that route was impossibly fat.

He felt his stomach gurgle, as if just thinking about food was making him hungry now. Lance flushed--he was going to have to watch himself and not go overboard.

“Oh, hey, yeah, can I have um...” Hunk had turned to the bartender and was staring at the menu with his brows pulled down in a look of concentration. “Nachos supreme, double the onion rings and a small fry? Oh, and I guess a beer.” He smiled and nodded at the bartender, who repeated his order back at him.

Lance grinned, patting Hunk on the arm. “There ya go, big guy, though I don’t know which stomach you’re going to put all that in--I told you the servings here are generous.”

Hunk laughed, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, I guess we’ll see.”

As Hunk got his drink, Lance lead him to the booth at the back corner where three men sat talking. It was Dietrich who greeted them first. “Hey, Lance, Hunk! Welcome!” He smiled genially, turning to look at them from his seat at the edge of the booth.

“Evening, gentlemen,” Lance replied, raising his pint in greeting. He looked around the table as he took a seat on the opposite side, moving deeper in so that Hunk could sit beside him. “Jackson’s not here yet?”

Stevens, who had in turn moved to let him and Hunk sit, shook his head. “Nah, he got stuck with a sticky combustion engine this afternoon. Last I saw him, he said he might take a while.”

“You’ll just have to enjoy the present company until then,” Dietrich added, offering him a grin.

Lance rolled his eyes, and took a drink. From the looks of it, the trio had been sitting there for while--and Hunk wasn’t the only one hungry, as both Morris and Stevens had empty plates in front of them. They had probably both come here straight from work, while Dietrich had had the day off after working the night shift; he looked fresh and relaxed, flashing a grin at Lance when he caught him looking.

“You guys getting any food?” Dietrich asked, raising his pint to his lips. “He hasn’t been here before, right?” His eyes moved from Lance to Hunk, waiting for one of them to answer.

“No, this is my first time.”

“--But  _ yes _ , he is getting some food,” Lance tacked on. “Gotta give the old place credit where it’s due; that menu has saved many a drinking night from disaster.”

Dietrich’s smile grew wider. “Let me guess, you rec’d the nachos?”

“Guilty as charged,” Lance replied.

Now Dietrich bust out a laugh. “This guy,” he said to Hunk, “is unbelievable with his nachos. They give him extra because he always finishes his plate.”

Lance felt Hunk’s gaze flick to him, but kept his eyes on the man across the table. “No, they don’t,” he said.

“Aw, no need to get defensive. It’s an open secret,” Dietrich said, leering at him.

“Oh fuck off--”

“Well, if Lance likes it, then I’m sure it’s good enough for me,” Hunk said, coming to his rescue; he was always ready to keep the peace.

Dietrich hummed, his eyes narrowing as he looked from Lance’s flushed face to Hunk. “So, what’s the story behind you two? Childhood friends?”

Lance grimaced.  _ Here we go _ , he thought glumly, taking a drink to hide his face. The beer in his glass was already down to almost half--he was going to need a refill soon if this kept up.

“Ah, no, we met at school, at the Garrison,” Hunk said.

“Galaxy Garrison? The space academy up North?” Morris asked, joining the conversation for the first time; he leaned forward on his seat, a look of interest on his face.

“Yeah! We’ve been friends since the first year.”

Morris nodded approvingly. “Oh, yeah. My cousin went there, that’s a pretty top notch academy, isn’t it?”

“Oh yeah, the training was great.”

“I hear many of the top pilots come from there,” Morris said.

“ _ So _ \--how’d you end up working for this shitty company then?” They all turned to look at Dietrich, who chuckled and gave a nonchalant shrug. “I mean, I had to try three times before I got my flying licence, so this the best I got to offer, but you guys sound like you know your shit.”

Hunk glanced at Lance, his brows high with surprise. “You didn’t tell them?”

“Didn’t feel like bragging,” Lance said, looking at the bottom of his pint before drinking it down. Hunk’s eyes stayed on him, and okay, Lance had to admit he was a shitty liar. “What does it matter, anyway? We’re all here because nothing better came up, right?”

Dietrich snorted. “Ain’t that the truth.”

The rest of the guys shrugged it off, except for Hunk who was now frowning; he perked up when Stevens asked him, “You were in the mech core, then?”

“Yeah.”

“And Lance?”

“He was in pilot training. We were on the same team.”

And now they were all looking at him. Lance wished he still had beer left to drown into, so he could avoid the question in their eyes.  _ How did you end up here _ , that’s what they wanted to know. Like he had an answer--or at least one that he could give in front of Hunk.

He was saved by the waitress--she appeared by their table with a tray loaded with food. As she started piling the stuff on the table, Lance saw Hunk’s eyes widen at the size of his order. “Told you it was gonna be a lot,” he said, punching Hunk on the arm, and couldn’t resist adding, “You gonna be okay?”

“Ah, I hope so.” Hunk licked his lips, glancing at the food and then back to Lance. “I might need some help, though.”

The waitress finished unloading everything on the table and Hunk pulled his nachos closer. Lance eyed his plate, and while the pile of food was indeed big, he quickly realized that Hunk’s serving was smaller than expected--when Lance ordered nachos here, his plate was usually heaping with food. Fuck, how had he never noticed that? “Let’s see how far you get on your own first,” he said, ignoring the spike of excitement that ran through him.

He ordered another beer from the waitress, idly rubbing the side of his gut. The hot, greasy smell of bar food tickled his nose, making his mouth water, but he didn’t want to order for himself just yet--a beer would suffice for now, and then... Lance took another look at the food Hunk had ordered, his eyes lingering on the two sticks loaded with fresh onion rings, then skipped over to the bowl of heaped with fries; he swallowed. This might be harder than thought.

“I see you like to eat big too,” Dietrich said; he looked like he was enjoying the show. “Though I don’t think I’ve seen even Lance eat that much in one go.”

“Oh, shut up,” Lance scoffed at him.

Hunk had just stuffed a bite of nachos in his mouth, and he was forced to eat his mouth clean before he could reply. “What can I say, I like food.” He smiled, though his face looked flushed. “Always been a big eater, though Lance has, uh--he’s giving me a run for my money these days.”

“ _ Hey _ ,” Lance exclaimed.

He threw a glare at Hunk, who answered with grin, his dark eyes full of easy amusement; Lance blushed as he realized that he couldn’t tell Hunk he was wrong, but Dietrich’s voice pulled his attention away before he could retort.

“You two must have made a helluva team back in the day,” he said with laugh.

“Oh, yeah, we had good times,” Hunk quickly picked up on Dietrich’s lead.

“Let me guess, you guys were roommates?”

Hunk chuckled. “You got me there,” he said, then took another bite before continuing, “but it was a three people team, so Pidge was our third wheel since second year onwards.”

“Pidge?” Morris asked suddenly. “As in, Katie Holt? That Pidge?”

“Oh, yeah!” Hunk brightened up at the mention of their friend’s real name. “You know her?”

“Know  _ of  _ her, I don’t know her personally.” Morris laughed, shaking his head like the mere suggestion was absurd, but he seemed more interested in the conversation now. “I like listening to podcasts about space on my downtime. I just listened one where she was a guest the other day--I knew I’d heard that nickname somewhere. She’s a real genius, all right.”

Hunk beamed. “That’s awesome! She’s one smart cookie, I couldn’t keep up with her at times, but then no one could, really.”

“But didn’t you say you worked on the Phobos project?” Stevens asked Hunk; he had been quietly following the conversation from behind his drink, but now his gaze was fixed on Hunk curiously. “I heard you talking to Jackson about it last week.”

“Ah, yeah, I did an engineering gig there. Just a few months, it was great.”

Stevens nodded. “That’s pretty impressive. You ever do any work on the Mars sites?”

“Oh, yeah, I had a stint there too. A year back or so.”

Hunk seemed to have forgotten about his food as the conversation kept going; Lance was grateful when the waitress finally brought a refill for his beer so he had something to focus on aside from Hunk’s various expeditions around Earth’s colonies. Not that he was jealous of Hunk’s obvious success, but fuck, he could do without yet another reminder of his failures. He tried to follow the conversation while downing his pint--too fast, he needed to calm down--but all the beer was making him crave something salty to balance it. His eyes slid over to Hunk’s onion rings, untouched so far.  _ No one likes cold onion rings _ , he thought as he took another drink. It would be a shame to order the same dish for himself if Hunk left his uneaten, but--he couldn’t just ask for Hunk to give them to him. That would be too embarrassing.

“--But all that just makes me wonder even more,” Dietrich was just saying when Lance tuned back in, his loud voice emphasized by alcohol, “why the fuck is a talented young dude like you working for  _ CargoLunar _ ? Shouldn’t you be out there in the world, not down here with the Earth trash.” He laughed to take the heat off his words, but Lance could see he was genuinely curious.

Lance felt Hunk glance at him. “I--”

“He and his lady broke up, so he came home,” Lance said. Everyone’s eyes turned to him, but he kept his expression as level as the booze churning through his system allowed. “You wanna dig into his business now?” He fixed a glare on Dietrich, who tipped his glass in apology.

“My apologies,” he said to Hunk, “didn’t know that was the case.”

“It’s fine, it’s--not that dramatic,” Hunk tried, but faltered to a stop, his eyes seeking Lance’s.

Lance belatedly realized he probably shouldn’t have said that, but at least it had gotten Dietrich to shut up. He could feel Hunk still looking at him, but he didn’t want to meet his gaze yet. He felt on edge, the two beers to a mostly empty gut giving him a quick rush that made him restless instead of relaxed, and what was worse, his stupid blurp had made everyone pay attention to him again. Lance lifted his pint to his lips, hoping the next beer would calm him down.

“You should eat something,” Hunk said when he lowered his glass.

He couldn’t hold down a burp, so he did his best to stifle it behind a fist before finally meeting Hunk’s eyes. “How’re you doing on yours?” he asked, raising his brow in an attempt to gain back his confidence. “Got plenty of food for me right there if you give up now.”

Hunk immediately flushed; his lips parted, but he didn’t say anything yet, instead glancing at the half a plate of nachos and all the sides he still had left. He chuckled, looking at Lance sideways as he picked up his fork again. “I guess I should eat more before it cools off,” he said, hesitating just a beat before adding, “you can have some of those onion rings if you need a bite. I--I don’t think I can eat all of this.”

Lance felt a warm rush color his cheeks, but he kept his cool. “You’re not even going to try them first?”

“I... guess I should?” Hunk said, chuckling as he picked up the topmost ring from the stick. He took a bite that caught most of it, leaving only the handle where his finger were holding on to the ring. He nodded as he chewed. “Crunchy, ‘s good.” He took another after popping the first one in his mouth, then pushed the rest of the stick towards Lance. “Please, have them.” He gave Lance a pleading look that was softened by the smirk he was trying to hold back.

Lance didn’t need any more persuasion, not really. But he gave a mock sigh, tutting at Hunk playfully. “Know your limits,” he said, eagerly snatching an onion ring from the stick and dipping it in the small bowl of garlic dip it was served with. It wasn’t as hot anymore as he liked them, but fuck, he was hungry now, so he bit in before grinning back at Hunk. “No need to waste good food.”.

“I’m not wasting it,” Hunk shot back, “you told me you’d take care of my leftovers.”

The rest of their company had been watching their exchange so quietly Lance had almost forgotten their existence, but now Dietrich’s voice pierced through his buzz again. “Look at these two, ain’t it just so nice to see such bromance happening right in front of your eyes,” he said to the others, smiling drunkenly at Lance as their eyes met. “Gives hope to a bitter old loner like me.”

“Whatcha mean by that?” Lance asked, taking another onion ring.

Dietrich gave a loose shrug. “Maybe one day I’ll have what you guys have.” His blue eyes were oddly intent when he looked at Lance before turning his attention to the other two. “Right, guys? Oh, but Stevens already has a wife. Sorry, bro,” he said, laughing as Stevens scoffed at him and shook his head.

“You guys still rooming together?” Morris asked.

Lance opened his mouth to reply, but Hunk was faster. “For the time being, yeah,” he said.

“Well see, that explains it,” Morris said, turning back to Dietrich.

“Oh, so you’re saying we should move in together?” Dietrich smirked. “You’d let me eat from your plate then? I mean, you didn’t even  _ offer  _ me a share from your fries earlier.”

Morris waved him off. “You didn’t ask, dude,” he said, leering at Dietrich.

The guys kept up their banter while Lance focused all his efforts on stuffing his face with as many onion rings as he could. He felt mortified--he hadn’t even considered their food sharing would be seen as  _ coupley.  _ That’s how they’d always been with Hunk--sharing was part of both their natures--but now, it seemed like there was a weird undertone to everything that had once felt so simple. He wondered how Hunk was taking it, but he couldn’t make himself look, instead reaching for his pint and emptying it in his throat.

He was down on his last rings when Jackson joined their company, obviously coming straight from the job. Jackson was older than the rest of them, but he made it work for his advantage, rugged masculinity and all that; the waitress trailed after him like she wasn’t immune to his charms either, and Lance jumped in to order another drink for himself, as did the others.

“What have I missed?” Jackson asked as he pulled a chair at the end of the table, looking around while rubbing his stubbled face.

Stevens, who was the most familiar with him, filled him in. “Hunk was telling us about all the work he’s done, you heard of the Mars thing yet?”

Jackson looked at Hunk, his interest piqued. “No, I don’t think we’ve talked about that. Were you with the mech crew there?”

“Yeah, upkeep and problem solving mostly. It was an intense couple months,” Hunk said, but before he could say anything more, the waitress returned with a tray full of drinks and a plateful of food for Jackson. Lance said a quiet prayer to whatever gods were listening that he didn’t have to go through another replay of Hunk’s career moves without a distraction.

_ And speaking of distractions _ \--Lance looked at the empty sticks that had held a double set of onion rings, totaling up to eighteen pieces. With a guilty flush, he realized he’d gone through both stacks without even asking Hunk if he had wanted more. And now he was cursing himself for not ordering food while the waitress was still by their table, because apparently even  _ that _ wasn’t enough for him. With a jealous look at Jackson’s poppers and fries, Lance grabbed his pint.

When he lowered his glass on the table with a barely stifled burp, there were suddenly fries in front of him--Hunk had slid his third dish over, with his barely touched set of fries on it. Lance swallowed; even cooled off, the fries they did here were seasoned so well, they were perfect to munch on even if you forgot them for a while. As Lance reeled the bowl of fries closer and casually snagged one with his fingers, he stole a look at Hunk. His plate was clean, so at least he hadn’t been too busy to eat his nachos, but then he saw Hunk’s big hand subtly cradling his stomach underneath the table.

Lance felt his throat go dry and swallowed again--Hunk couldn’t actually be full yet? Not when that serving and then some was Lance’s usual, something he could easily eat to finish. And yet, Hunk had ordered so much food, much more than he seemed capable of eating.

Almost as if he had ordered it for  _ Lance  _ to eat.

He let the conversation slip by as he doubled down on his fries, his mind churning as he thought about the nachos, the rings, and everything else. He wanted to mimic Hunk and touch his stomach--it was starting to feel heavy, bloated up with food and drink--but he resisted the urge, substituting the need with more fries until he was scraping the last ones from the bowl. His heart racing wildly, Lance took his beer and drank it down, wanting nothing more than to lean back and rub his swollen gut right then and there.

Of course, he couldn’t do that. Burping under his breath, he shifted on his seat, trying to regain his bearings. He’d lost the thread of discussion to his food lust, and the others had moved on; Hunk and Jackson were still talking at the head of the table and the three others were laughing over their beers on Lance’s other side. Maybe he was just too drunk, too  _ full _ to think, the rush of blood too loud in his ears to make out what everyone was saying.

“You okay?” He realized Hunk was looking at him, talking to him, eyes looking dark in the bar lighting; Hunk’s gaze darted down to the empty dishes in front of Lance, and he bit on his lip before smiling. “See, no leftovers? Good job.” Hunk’s voice was quiet when he said that, like he was only talking to Lance. Like he didn’t want the rest of them to hear.

_ Good job. _

The words echoed through his mind, sending sparks running through his system, making heat pool up in the pit of his stuffed gut; Lance suddenly realized he was overwhelmingly, undeniably, turned on. He knew he was supposed to say something back, but his brain was coming up with a blank, because--what did you say to that? “Ah, t-thanks,” he stammered drunkenly, trying to laugh, but it turned into a hiccup instead. Lance could see Hunk’s expression change as he continued to stare at him, face burning, and  _ needing. “ _ I need to, can I--” he started, trying to turn in his seat, but as he switched position he could  _ feel _ his gut press against the hard edge of the table, and the sensation stopped him dead.

He glanced down, confused at first, but as he saw the damage his mindless eating had done, he jerked his head up; he could see Hunk’s eyes follow his, a change coming over his face as he took in Lance’s situation. For a moment, Lance expected him to reach over and  _ touch him _ , but he was too drunk to trust his senses; he could easily have imagined the twitch of Hunk’s arm, the heat in his eyes. He could have imagined it all.

“I need to pee,” he blurted out, awkwardly backing away from the table.

The booth felt several sizes smaller than usual as he squeezed his way out. Lance didn’t remember having this much trouble with the seats here before, but maybe he just hadn’t noticed it. He stumbled past Hunk who’d gotten up to let him out, mumbling his excuses, heading for the bathrooms on the other side of the bar.

He could feel his bloated gut leading the way, bouncing with each step as he wound his way through the early evening crowd. Walking made the air bubble up from his stomach, forcing out burp after burp, but the blare of the music saved him from the worst embarrassment. Still, the empty bathroom felt like a safe haven after the noisy bar--Lance went straight for the cubicles, and locked himself in the last one.

He didn’t think--he dropped his pants and grabbed his erection, barely choking back a groan as he stroked himself. There was no mirror in the cubicle, but he didn’t need one; looking down, all he could see was the round ball of his gut underneath the shirt, jiggling with the beat of his hand. He shuddered, trying to hold his voice as he ripped up his shirt and clapped a hand on his fat gut, palming the flesh with reckless, drunken abandon. One hand on his dick, the other on his belly, Lance leaned his back hard against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut as he jacked off in needy, hard pulls.

_ Hunk got that food for me _ .

The thought repeated in his mind, innocuous but burning hot, just like Hunk’s eyes at the table when his gaze had dropped down to see Lance’s gut wedged against the table. Lance whined, picking up his pace, fingers kneading the top of his stomach as he imagined Hunk doing the same to himself, to  _ Lance, _ his big hand grabbing at Lance’s flesh, his low voice murmuring praises into his ear--

He didn’t even need to finish the fantasy. It was all too much, the aching fullness of his gut blending with the vision in his head until his whole system was on overload, and he reached his end abruptly, muffling a cry against his shoulder.

Lance opened his eyes to see come streaks dripping down the opposite wall of his cubicle, and that finally gave his brain a jump start.

“Oh,  _ fuck. _ ”


	3. Drunk Food

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> [ stuffing intensifies ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no excuse for this chapter. Thanks to everyone who's commented on the previous chapters, hope you enjoy this one as well! <3

After washing his hands and face in the sink, Lance braved a look into the mirror. There were blotches of red on his flushed skin, his eyes dark and bleary. He looked just like he felt--like a mess. But Lance didn’t have time to mull over his appearance as someone came in, glancing at him curiously as they went to the urinal. He fled the room, wiping his hands dry on his jeans.

He had probably been gone longer than he’d thought; while he’d been in the bathroom, his company had broken up, with Jackson and Stevens having moved to claim the pool table with Hunk as the third. He was going to head straight for the bar, not wanting to join the others just yet, but as soon as he came back Hunk’s eyes darted to him, and he walked over to meet him.

“Are you okay?” he asked, giving Lance a careful look. 

He could only meet Hunk’s eyes fleetingly; the fantasy was still vivid in his mind, and when Hunk was looking at him like that, all he wanted to do was fall into his arms and--

“Yeah, just drank too much,” he said, rubbing his nose. 

“You wanna leave?” 

Lance glanced at him, then let his eyes slide over to the men waiting for him around the pool table. “No, it’s fine,” he said.

“You wanna join the game?” Hunk asked, having followed his gaze, but Lance just scoffed.

“Way too drunk to be playing with those dudes,” he muttered, then tried to smile. “You be careful when betting against Jackson, he’s as good as a pro around here.”

Hunk made a face. “Thanks for the warning, I, uh. I’ll keep that in mind.”

He waved Hunk off and found a free spot at the bar, leaning his elbows against the counter as he climbed to sit on a stool. He kept his head up, even if what he really wanted to do was hide his face in his arms and just wallow. 

What the hell had he just done? It was one thing to jerk off to his best friend in the dark hours of the night, in his own home and bed, but at a public bathroom in a fucking bar? Lance shut his eyes for a second, nearly overwhelmed with guilt. He was losing it, and badly.

The bartender called his attention back to the present and Lance ordered another beer, but by the time he had the pint in front of him, he realized it wasn’t enough. “Hey,” he called the bartender back, “can I get a shot of tequila too?” He stared at his beer until the bartender brought him the shot, and immediately tipped the small glass back.

He needed to get a fucking grip. Whatever weird fantasies he was having, Hunk had nothing to do with them. Mixing his best friend into something so deviant made Lance’s stomach turn with embarrassment. He  _ knew _ Hunk--always looking after others, anticipating their needs--and there was nothing new in him pushing food at Lance when he was hungry. Hunk was just taking care of him--because he was a good friend, and Lance needed to stop turning it all into something kinky; he swallowed the rest of the shot and let his head drop, exhaling a long, deep sigh.

A hand clapped him on the shoulder. “Need some company?” Dietrich asked, appearing beside him. Lance shrugged off his arm and shot him a dirty look, but the man just grinned at him; he was a little unsure on his feet, not as drunk as Lance but getting there. “Aw, don’t be so cold, man, what is up with you tonight?”

“Nothing,” Lance muttered, turning his attention back to his drink.

“Come on, Lance, you’re not mad at me, are you?” He didn’t answer, but Dietrich wasn’t fazed by his silence. “I’m just messing with you, bro. You know me.”

He gave a sideways glance to Dietrich. The man was smiling at him amicably, and Lance huffed, his lips curving into a smirk. “Yeah, and I know you’re an asshole.” 

Dietrich laughed. “That’s harsh, dude.”

“But true.” 

Dietrich pulled a face, shrugging like he didn’t give a damn, and Lance felt his smile get a little easier--maybe it was the tequila working its magic; he felt less on edge already. He’d spent enough time in Dietrich’s company to know his lack of tact was a feature, not a bug. He was good company, as long as his sharp tongue wasn’t guided towards you.

“You should’ve said something about the Garrison, tho, bro. That’s a good merit no matter how you dice it.”

Lance grimaced. “Didn’t want everyone to think I’m a loser,” he said after a moment, drinking from his pint. 

Dietrich laughed. He gave him a nudge with his elbow. “Nobody thinks you’re a loser, Lance. Aside from you.”

He stayed quiet, but his gaze drifted to where Hunk and the others were chatting around the pool table. As if on cue, Hunk glanced in his direction, and their eyes met for a split second; Lance looked away first. “I’m not like him,” he mumbled darkly.

Beside him, Dietrich turned and leaned his side on the counter to look past Lance. “Well, he is quite a catch.”

Lance’s head snapped to the side so fast he felt a little dizzy. “What do you mean by that?” he demanded.

Dietrich’s eyes slid back to him, and he smirked. “Tall, dark and handsome, successful too?” He raised his brows suggestively. “Didn’t you say he was single again?”

“I didn’t know you were into guys,” Lance said bluntly. 

Dietrich suddenly leaned closer, his eyes sparkling dangerously. “I didn’t know  _ you _ were into guys,” he retorted, “but I guess he’s a special case.”

Lance felt the color draining from his face; he stared at Dietrich in horror, his moment of calm short lived. “We’re just friends.”

“Oh! Oh, right,” Dietrich said, his shit eating grin back in place. 

Lance could tell he wasn’t buying his answer in the least.  _ Fuck.  _ He needed another shot. “He’s straight,” Lance said, flagging down the bartender to order again.

“ _ Really? _ ” 

Dietrich bust out a laugh, slamming a hand on the table as if this had been the joke of the century.

Lance shot him a glare. “Yeah, really, so why are you laughing?”

“That’s not what I would’ve thought, is all.” Dietrich grinned at him, more subdued now, a sharp look in his eyes.

“He’s my best friend. We’ve been friends for years, so I would know if...” Lance trailed off, the words suddenly sounding meaningless in his ears. There was something shifting inside his chest, at the back of his head, his gut twisting with a glimmer of  _ hope _ \--he ordered another tequila from the bartender who’d just arrived; he needed to quench this feeling before it took root. He felt Dietrich’s eyes on him, but kept his focus ahead, sure that his face would reveal everything, but-- _ he already knows,  _ Lance thought, panic piercing through his drunken buzz with sudden force.

“Please don’t say anything,” he breathed out; he glanced over to Dietrich again, ready to beg to keep his secret safe, but he didn’t need to.

Dietrich patted him on the shoulder. “Dude, even _I’m_ not that much of an asshole,” he said--then winked, his smirk returning in place as he continued, “We’re _friends_ , right?” 

Lance couldn’t help the blush that rose on his face; he nodded dumbly, fingers tight on the shot glass to keep his hand from shaking as he lifted it to his lips.

“You should say something, though.” Dietrich had gotten a new drink as well, and was now looking at Lance from over his tumbler of whiskey.

“I--can’t,” was all Lance could say. His mind was a mess, replaying his whole relationship with Hunk from the perspective that  _ maybe-- _

Dietrich snorted softly. “Suit yourself, dude, but... you might be surprised.” He took a drink, his eyes darting past Lance again; he bit back a grin and cocked his head forward as he said, “Incoming,” before going back to his drink.

Lance turned on instinct to follow his gaze, and almost managed to hit Hunk who had suddenly appeared on his other side. He looked up, his mind whirling with booze and possibilities; he wasn’t sure what he was expecting to see on Hunk’s face, but to his surprise, he looked almost  _ mad.  _ His brows were pulled into a frown, and Lance’s first thought was he’d heard them talking.

He balked. “H- _ hey, _ ” he started, leaning back because Hunk was just  _ too close _ , “did you--did you finish your game already?”

Hunk glanced at Dietrich, then back to Lance, like he was trying to decipher their conversation from the looks on their faces. But as he took in Lance’s expression, the frown on his face eased up and he chuckled, pulling a face. “Uh, yeah. You were right about Jackson, he cleaned me out in no time.” 

“Told you,” Lance said, shifting to make room for Hunk on the bar counter. “You want a drink?”

Hunk looked at the three glasses in front of Lance, two of them already empty. “I don’t know,” he started unsurely, but Lance waggled his shot glass at him before emptying it down his throat.

“C’mon, you’re way behind me, big guy, you need to catch up.” 

He knew he should probably stop--the shots were doing their purpose, making his head swim and his body feel numb--but with Hunk by his side again, he felt the same craving that had taken him over earlier rear its head again. With Dietrich’s words running circles in his mind, he wanted to lean over and rest his head against Hunk shoulder, wanted to touch him to see how he’d react, and--Lance couldn’t have that.

“Just one. You can handle one shot, right?” he teased, desperately trying to keep his smile in place. It probably came off as manic instead of friendly, but at least it was better than showing what he had in his mind.

Hunk’s eyes scanned his face, and Lance could see the moment when he gave in. “Fine,” he said. “But just one, okay?”

“That’s the spirit!” He flashed a grin at Hunk before hailing the bartender back to their spot.

“Then we should probably leave.”

He shook his head, laughing. “Aw, what, why? You’re not enjoying yourself?”

“Lance...” 

Hunk’s voice was soft, almost getting lost in all the background noise, yet it made Lance’s stomach swoop. He knew there would be a worried frown on Hunk’s face if he looked, and as drunk as he was, he wasn’t sure if he could handle that--so he kept his eyes forward, and waited for Hunk to continue, only to have his attention pulled away by a sharp jab to his other side.

“What the hell, man?” he growled at Dietrich, rubbing a hand over the sore spot on his side. 

“Oh, nothing.” The man leered at him. “My hand just slipped.”

Lance glowered. “Well, maybe you should slip the fuck off next before your ass hits the floor.” He raised his brows.

Dietrich’s laugh was dirty and rough, but he pushed himself off the counter. Before leaving, he wrapped his arm around Lance and whispered right to his ear, “Have fun with your wife,” and pecked a kiss on his cheek. 

Lance recoiled and shook him off, too surprised to find a comeback, and Dietrich was gone.

“Fucker,” Lance cursed, wiping his hot cheek on the back of his hand. The bartender arrived and he made the order of the last two shots, only then braving a look at Hunk.

But Hunk wasn’t looking at him, his gaze having followed Dietrich as the man sauntered back to his friends at the back. His face was dark with rage, jaw clenched tight and his eyes fierce. Lance blinked. He couldn’t be reading this right, but--Hunk looked almost ready to fight the guy.

_ He’s jealous _ , his treacherous brain provided, and Lance felt his heart skip a beat before launching into a race.

Finally, Hunk turned to him. “What were you guys talking about?” he asked, sounding almost demanding.

“Uh, nothing,” Lance said, then amended, “just bullshit.”

Hunk studied his face for a moment. “You’re right, he is kind of an asshole.”

Hearing Hunk actually bad mouthing someone made Lance’s eyes go wide; he snorted. “Told you,” he said. He pushed the second shot of tequila towards Hunk and picked up his own. “Let’s do this, then we can go.” 

They made a toast, and Lance watched Hunk guide the glass to his lips and drink. His eyes lingered, his heart full of yearning, like any moment now he’d follow the path of that glass with his own lips--Lance took down his shot in one go, hoping against hope that the bitter liquid would burn off his feelings.

  
  
  
  
  
  


As soon as he was back on his feet, he could feel the consequences of his indulgence. He didn’t usually drink so heavily, but the tension he’d felt all night had given him an extra push towards getting really drunk, and now his legs felt like rubber beneath him. And it wasn’t just that--with all the food and beer, his belly felt big and bloated, throwing his balance off as he moved. “Oopsie,” he muttered as he stumbled, grasping for support on the wall as they headed out from the bar.

Not that he needed to worry about falling--Hunk was right by his side, steady and safe, ready to hold him up. “You okay to walk?” he asked.

It had been a while since Lance had heard him ask that, and the words brought back memories from their time at the Garrison. “Hey, now, who do you think you’re talking to? I can manage it, thanks.” Lance chuckled as he turned to face Hunk, trying his best to give off the impression that he  _ could _ live up to his words. 

Hunk didn’t seem so certain, but he gave him a smile before pulling back his hands. Lance had been in no hurry to shake him off; now, he felt a twinge of regret for not giving into the offer. 

“Sure, sure,” Hunk said, smirking a little, “like I could forget your drunken escapades during our last year.”

Lance grinned back at him. “What, I wasn’t  _ that _ bad.”

“Yeah, let’s just say I’m going to trust my own memories better than yours,” he said, “Lance the lush.” He gave him a pointed look, but there was fondness to his words, so Lance took it with a laugh.

“Hey, you had your nights too. Remember that time when we snuck out to that dingy place, what was it called...”

Hunk snorted. “See? You can’t even remember the name.” 

“Psh, details.” He waved a hand at Hunk. “I remember having to drag you home when you could barely see straight--”

“--Because you kept insisting ‘one more for the road’ when  _ you _ could barely hold it together.”

“Like I said, details,” Lance laughed, trying to give Hunk a nudge as they walked, but it came out as more of a bump when he lost his balance. He felt Hunk’s hand on his back, his arm wrapping around him, and this time, he didn’t move away.  _ He’s so warm _ , he thought. It felt so natural to let his own hand slip around Hunk’s waist, his weight pressing against his side.

Neither of them said anything for a moment. It was still early, the dusk just turning into twilight. There were only a few people on the streets, and no one gave them a second glance as they set to a slow walk towards the shuttle stop. 

It wasn’t a long way off, but Lance was quickly starting to feel winded, the fullness of his stomach making it harder to breathe. With every step, he could feel his gut sloshing and jiggling, little burps making their way up his throat, and with the numbness from the tequila topping off his buzz, he faintly realized it might take a while to reach the stop.

Suddenly, his foot caught a crack on the sidewalk. He let out a shout, cursing as he almost fell flat on his face. Almost, but not really, as Hunk caught him with a steadying hand right to Lance’s middle. 

The simple touch was enough to make him gasp, his body flooding with heat. He stared down at Hunk’s big hand on his bloated gut--but before he could think of anything to say, to do, his drunken brain completely blank, Hunk snatched his hand back. Lance dragged his eyes up, and saw Hunk blushing. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to--” he started, but he didn’t have time to finish as Lance fell forward, and wrapped his arms around him. 

They hadn’t hugged since the night Hunk had arrived. Lance hadn’t realized how much he needed it until his body was pressed against Hunk’s, his big, solid frame embraced between his hands.

“Lance...” 

Hunk’s voice was as soft as a whisper when he spoke, so close to his ear that it made him shiver. He wanted to move closer still, squish them together, feel Hunk all up against him; in that moment, he didn’t care how it came off because he  _ needed  _ this. He bunched the fabric of Hunk’s coat in his fists tightly, anticipating the moment when Hunk would push him away, but the seconds ticked by and neither of them moved.

“Rough night, huh.” 

It wasn’t really a question, but Lance nodded, his face hidden in Hunk’s shoulder. “Something like that.” 

“I’m sorry I said yes. I didn’t know--” he hesitated, looking for the right words. “Didn’t know it would be like that.”

“It’s not...” Lance fell quiet, cringing as he thought back to the way he’d behaved. Snapping at his supposed friends, getting so drunk Hunk had to take him home like a fucking teenager. Jacking off in the bathroom like some kind of a pervert--and now he was throwing himself at his best friend like this, shameless and clingy.  _ He must think I’m pathetic _ , he thought with a flash, but even that didn’t make him pull back. “Sorry, I’m--I’m sorry,” he mumbled.

He felt Hunk’s hands skim over his shoulders, down his back, finally settling around his waist. “Hey, now, no need for that,” he said. 

His heart leaped into a gallop and on instinct, Lance tightened his grip, wanting desperately for Hunk to do the same. They had shared many hugs during their friendship, neither of them scared of the intimacy of touch, but this--this was different from Hunk’s usual hugs. It was careful, almost chaste, and though Lance wanted nothing more than for Hunk to embrace him fiercely, throw his back against the nearest building and just _take him_ , there was something achingly sweet in the soft touch of his hands.

A jolt of excitement went through him. Maybe Dietrich had been right--maybe there  _ was  _ something more between them. Lance felt his breath catch, a hum of energy passing through his body as he let go and looked up into Hunk’s face.

The streetlights cast stark shadows on Hunk’s face, making his expression hard to read, but there was a glimmer in his eyes that looked like  _ love;  _ Lance couldn’t stop staring at him. His hands were paralyzed in mid-air, mouth open but no words came out.

Hunk’s lips twisted into a smile. “Wow, you really  _ are _ drunk,” he said. Lance blinked. Hunk let his hands drop down, then gave him a pat on the shoulder. “Let’s get you home.”

And just like that, the moment was gone. Hunk made sure Lance was stable enough to stand before releasing his grip and stepping back. He glanced up the street, pushing his hands into the pockets of his coat; his profile told nothing of his thoughts.

After what felt like an eternity, he looked back at Lance and said, “You sure you don’t want me to call a cab?” 

The world around him was swaying gently, the darkness and light playing tricks on his vision and making Hunk’s face look like a mask. Lance wasn’t sure if it was from the booze or the shock, or if he was just about to have a breakdown, but he couldn’t read Hunk’s expression at all.

“Lance? You okay?”

He needed to say something; Lance cleared his throat, trying to make his body move again. “Yeah,” he said, taking a step back. His voice sounded like it was coming from somewhere else--everything felt numb, like he’d been hit with a sledgehammer and he was just waiting for the pain to start.

“Lance the lush.” Hunk laughed softly, then cocked his head to the side. “Come, we’re almost there.”

Hunk waited for him to move before starting down the street again. Lance followed him a step behind, eyes stinging but dry. With the warmth of the day now gone, the spring air felt cold on his hot cheeks. 

Cold, and dry.

  
  
  
  
  


“So... I guess this is goodnight, then?” Hunk asked when they were back at Lance’s apartment. 

Lance shook off his jacket and tossed it in the rack, missing it by a mile but not bothering to fix it. “Are you tired?” He gave Hunk a sideways look as he braced himself against the wall to take off his shoes.

Hunk shrugged. “Not really.” He was eyeing Lance carefully, as if trying to figure out his mood. It had been a quiet shuttle ride, and the walk home from the shuttle stop hadn’t been much better, but Hunk hadn’t pressed him to talk. Lance had felt his gaze on him at times, but every time he looked up, Hunk was staring out of the shuttle window with a blank look on his face--there wasn’t much to see in the dark city view, but Lance could understand him not wanting to talk about what had happened. 

He certainly didn’t.

But now that they were alone in the small flat again, the silence felt more pressing, and Lance desperately wanted things to go back to normal.   

“Me neither.”

“You wanna do something?” Hunk asked as they moved from the foyer to the living room. 

Lance hung back, hesitating. He watched Hunk sit down on the couch, resting his arms on top of it as he leaned back and yawned--so much for not being tired. His eyes slid over Hunk’s body, taking in the slight curve of his belly, highlighted by the close fit of his shirt; his fingers itched to feel it, to trail down the row of buttons crossing over it and undo them, one by one. He just managed to glance away before Hunk caught him looking, but he could feel a familiar heat rising to his cheeks.  _ Stop it _ , he scolded himself as he followed Hunk to the couch.  _ He’s your friend, and nothing more. _

Lance plopped himself down next to him; the couch gave a creak under his weight, and he cringed. “I, ah,” he started, rubbing his nose and trying to will the blush away from his face. “Actually, I kinda wanna... eat something.”

Hunk made a surprised noise, his head snapping towards Lance. “ _ Really? _ ”

Lance forced himself to stay still under his inspection. He was more than conscious of the awkward way his own shirt was clinging to his body. The henley hadn’t been that loose to begin with, but with four beers and Hunk’s generous leftovers swelling him up, it now felt snug, almost tight around his gut. He probably didn’t exactly  _ look  _ hungry.

“Yeah, really,” he said, swallowing, then made himself relax. He settled back on the couch and lifted a hand to his belly, patting it while offering Hunk a smirk. “How do you think this gut got made, huh?”

The expression on Hunk’s face flickered, and Lance could swear he was biting on his lip, but it was probably because he couldn’t think of a proper reply. 

“I can still fit something in,” he said. Then he realized how that must sound--he knew he was acting like a total glutton, but he didn’t need to draw any more attention to that. “Drinking always makes me hungry.”

“Oh,” Hunk said. He was quiet for a beat, then said, “Do you wanna order something in, or...”

“No, no no.” Lance waved him off; he felt a flash of anticipation shoot through him, and he could barely keep his face straight when he said, “I want  _ you _ to make me something.”

Hunk’s eyes went wide again. “You--you do?”

Lance grinned. “Yeah.” 

A calculating look appeared on Hunk’s face. He glanced towards the kitchen, as if he could see the contents of their fridge through the walls somehow. “There’s some meat I could cook,” he ventured after a moment, but Lance was already shaking his head.

“Nah, I don’t want dinner,” he said.

“You got something in mind?” Hunk asked, his eyes returning to Lance.

“Drunk food.” He grinned at the look of confusion that spread on Hunk’s face. “You now, like the old days?”

Hunk squinted, brows pulling down into a frown, then finally, he got it. “Oh, you mean--”

“Eggs in a basket,” Lance finished victoriously. He gave Hunk a wistful smile, sighing as he went on. “Those things were  _ so good _ when you made them, I’ve missed them. A lot.” He chuckled to hide his enthusiasm, but Hunk didn’t seem to mind.

“You could’ve just made some for yourself. They’re not that hard.” 

“Psh, says you. And who says I haven’t tried?” He raise a brow at Hunk, still grinning. “Even with that shitty hot plate you had my attempts beaten fair and square. You know I can pretty much light the kitchen on fire trying to fry something.”  

He could see that his praise was winning Hunk over--his smile was soft and indulgent when he said, “Of course, I’ll make you some. Just tell me how many you want.”

Lance had been anticipating the question; he had his answer ready, but he didn’t want to seem too intense about it, so he waited a beat, biting on his lip. “I could do four,” he said, then frowned, as if considering. “No, make that six.”

Hunk’s mouth fell open. He sat up, eyes fixed on Lance. “S-six? Wow, that’s. That’s a lot, isn’t it?”

“Mmm, but they’re really good,” Lance said, licking his lips. “I always wanted to eat so many of them, but you only gave me a few and ate the rest yourself.” 

Lance saw Hunk’s Adam’s apple move as he swallowed. “You...” His voice sounded weird, making him clear his throat before continuing, “You could’ve asked. If you wanted more.”

“I could,” Lance said, then snorted. “But I wasn’t as big of an eater back then, unlike you.”

He didn’t realize he was touching his gut again until Hunk’s gaze shifted there; his hands had somehow ended back on his middle, idly caressing the smooth curve of his belly where it rested on his lap. A wave of heat went through him, leaving his skin tingling, but--it didn’t feel like embarrassment.  

It felt like a  _ challenge. _

Finally, Hunk lifted his eyes. “I don’t think  _ I  _ could do six, though. Not after...” He trailed off and didn’t finish the sentence, but Lance could read his thoughts loud and clear-- _ not after everything else you’ve stuffed in your face tonight, not with your gut so full and bloated already.  _ Hunk glanced away, his fingers lacing together in his lap. “You sure you’re up for it?” he asked, sounding so serious that Lance almost wanted to laugh.

“Bring it on, dude.”   

Hunk nodded, then exhaled and got up. “I need the bathroom first,” he said in a muted voice, “I’ll be right back.”

“Take your time, bro,” Lance called after him, “I’m not exactly dying here.”

The moment Hunk was gone, Lance turned his attention to his gut. It made an impressive bump beneath his soft shirt, and he felt heated just by looking at it. His body was humming with restless energy, his heart beating fast and hard in his chest like he was about to rush into battle as he grabbed his belly with both hands, feeling the bloated swell of it between his palms. It felt so  _ round _ , he couldn’t stop running his hands all over it, squishing it to feel the firmness under his chub. “Ah,  _ fuck _ ,” he cursed softly. All the jostling made way for a burp, and he let it out while kneading the sides of his gut drunkenly, arousal coursing through his veins.

The thing was, he wasn’t really hungry. Of course he wasn’t, and Hunk was right, six of those egg things was  _ a lot  _ to digest. Lance swallowed, his hands slipping down to grasp the soft pudge under his belly button and pinch it, shifting on his seat to give himself more room to work. He let his head tip back, closing his eyes as a sigh escaped his lips. 

He could pretend he didn’t know what he was doing, but there were limits to his denial and this, this weird and twisted thing he couldn’t help but keep chasing, was so vivid and  _ real _ he couldn’t deny it from himself. He knew exactly what he was getting into by asking Hunk to cook for him. He  _ wanted  _ Hunk to feed him, wanted him to take care of him so badly it made his insides squirm with longing and lust. And if he couldn’t get Hunk to love him--love him as more than a friend--he would take the next best thing: his cooking. It was the manifestation of his caring nature at its purest, and Lance would eat it all up, fill himself to the brim with it, for as long as he could.

The sound of the toilet flushing alerted him to Hunk’s return; with a guilty flush, he made sure his shirt hadn’t ridden up, then waited for Hunk to appear back in the living room before pushing himself up from the couch with a grunt. 

“You ready?” Lance asked with a smirk, and when Hunk nodded, he rounded the coffee table and headed for the kitchen. He felt a little uneasy on his feet, the amount of booze he’d downed finally catching up to him, but he wasn’t tired. He was eager to get going, and show Hunk what he was made of. He stopped by the kitchen table to give Hunk a glance; the man was being awfully quiet all of a sudden. “You don’t need me for anything, right?” 

Hunk scoffed softly. “Would you help me if I asked?” he countered, raising his brow at Lance. 

“Of course, dude! Just say the word.”

But Hunk just smiled at him, gesturing for him to sit down. “Nah, I’m good,” he said, “you’re too drunk to hold a knife anyway. Don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

“Hey, hey,” Lance grumbled, but he was happy to oblige. “I’m not that much of a klutz.” 

He pulled out a chair and sat down heavily, resting his elbows on the table. His kitchen was just large enough to fit a small square table and two chairs against the back wall; there were no windows in the room, but the lack of a view had never bothered Lance--he rarely ate there, anyway, more inclined to take his food into the living room when he was alone. 

After Hunk had moved in, though, he’d been spending more time in his kitchen than ever before. Somehow, he hadn’t really realized it, but with Hunk making sure he was eating his breakfast--at home instead of grabbing something on the go--and cooking dinner for him on most nights, his kitchen had become the heart of his home. Now that he looked around, there were little things all around that tied Hunk to his apartment: a tiny garden of herbs had appeared on his table, so Hunk could season his food with fresh herbs, and there was a stack of worn out notebooks next to it, containing Hunk’s collection of recipes. Lance pulled one of the notebooks closer, flipping it open on a random page, but he couldn’t really concentrate on reading. 

He didn’t want Hunk to leave, but what could he do to prevent it? His apartment wasn’t big enough to fit the both of them indefinitely; even if Hunk seemed content to sleep on his couch bed for now, there would come a time when he’d want his own apartment. Eventually, he would need his own space. 

Lance blinked back the sting from his eyes--fuck, now was not the time for crying. He glanced at Hunk, who’d been unloading things from the fridge as he set up his cooking station on the kitchen counter next to the stove. He’d pulled out a cutting board and set the frying pan ready on the stove, and was now rummaging through the cupboard for the rest of the necessary supplies. The way he moved around Lance’s kitchen was like he belonged there, knowing the contents of every closet by heart already. Had it really been just a month since he’d come back? The time had gone by so swiftly, yet it felt like Hunk had been there forever. 

“Oh, butter! That’s what I forgot,” Hunk said to himself, stepping back to the fridge to pull out a foil wrapped package. He gave Lance a look over his shoulder. “You need something to drink?”

“Ah, yeah,” he stammered, feeling caught by Hunk’s sudden attention--he was sure that his feelings were written plain on his face, and tried to smile to hide it. “We still got beer, right?”

But Hunk immediately shook his head, his mouth pulled into a line. “We do, but I’m not giving you one. Pick something else.”

“ _ Fine.  _ A coke, then.” Lance rolled his eyes, sighing dramatically, but--Hunk was probably right. He was feeling emotional enough as it was, and getting more drunk would just ruin the mood. 

“That’s better.” Hunk nodded in approval before ducking back into the fridge to pull out a can. He brought it over to the table and set it in front of Lance, but instead of going back to his preparations, he hovered next to him. “You feeling okay?” he asked, and Lance felt his eyes scanning over his features. 

“Yeah,” he said, busying himself with his drink. 

Hunk opened his mouth, hesitating, then patted Lance on the shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t worry, food will be done in a minute. This is fast food at its greatest, trust me.”

Lance scoffed. “Oh, I trust you all right. This is what I asked for, remember?” He raised a brow at Hunk, lips curling into a smile. “I trust you’ll make it  _ perfect. _ ”

“Of course.” Hunk bit on his lip, then in a voice that was warm like honey, he said, “For you, I’ll always make it perfect.” He turned and went back to his cooking station, leaving Lance staring after him. 

_ Fuck.  _ Hunk had to know what he was doing, saying things like that to him. His words spun around in Lance’s head, and with each round, his heart beat faster, harder.  _ God, _ he could barely handle things as they were, and Hunk throwing around lovey dovey shit like that was just too much. Lance let his head drop in his hands, squeezing his eyes shut for a second, his mind a mess of hazy thoughts and dreams.  _ Get a fucking grip.  _ He exhaled, using all his self control to pull himself together, and looked up again.     

Hunk was humming to himself as he worked; he was using a small shot glass to cut holes in the middle of bread slices, separating the round circles into their own pile on the cutting board. He’d set the pan heating up now, and as Lance watched, he carved out a big piece of butter and dropped it on the frying pan, where it sizzled gently as it melted. Lance swallowed, his mouth wetting at the promise of food--he hadn’t been kidding about how much he loved this particular dish.

He’d seen the whole process many times before, but there was something riveting in the easy way Hunk went through the motions; he dropped two slices of bread on the pan, turning them around to get the butter on both sides before cracking the eggs and filling the holes with them. Lance couldn’t stop thinking about all the times he’d done it before. And--he  _ had _ always done such a perfect job at cooking for Lance, so much so that Lance had often lamented how he’d never find a better wife than him.

He grimaced; Jesus, how could he have been so  _ blind.  _ He was suddenly filled with a yearning to walk up and slide his hands around Hunk’s waist, and press against his back--

He had to look away. The notebook was still open in front of him, and he stared at the recipe that was scribbled on it in Hunk’s neat handwriting. Lance flipped to the first page and started going through the booklet from the beginning. 

Some of the recipes had pictures to accompany them, both cut out from magazines and printed--probably originating from cooking blogs all over the internet--but most of them were handwritten, with notes on the marginals in different ink. Hunk must have added those later when he’d redone his recipes, perfecting them until they were just right.

“Did you come up with these recipes yourself?” Lance asked, taking another notebook from the pile.

“What?” Hunk gave him a glance over his shoulder. “Oh, those. Yeah, some of them. Some are my mother’s--she’s one of those people who never writes anything down, so I wanted to preserve them.”

Lance nodded. He’d never had the pleasure of eating Hunk’s mother’s cooking, but if she was even near as good as Hunk--and he had no doubt about that--her food must be divine. 

“Why didn’t you become a chef like her?”

Hunk gave a shrug, looking back to the frying pan. “I did consider it, but--I like working with machines too.”

Lance couldn’t help but feel jealous. Hunk had so much talent he could’ve picked either one and be successful, and what did he have? A piece of paper from a good academy didn’t mean shit when he couldn’t keep his head straight to make it through a job interview. 

_ Stop it _ , he told himself, trying to stop the nosedive his mood was taking. He’d made his choices, and now he had to live with them.

“Oh, I did work in a restaurant for a while there, did I tell you about that?”

Lance perked up, lifting his gaze from the recipe book. “What? No.”

“Oh yeah, it was after we--Shay and I, that is--left Mars. The place we ended up in was a bit of a party town, you know, lots of beaches and tourists? So it didn’t really have a lot of job opportunities for a mechanic. And we needed the money, so... There was this nice little family restaurant that was looking for a new sous chef, and--she set me up to it.” Hunk smiled at the memory, then went on. “I didn’t think I could do it at first, but--it was fun.” 

Lance was glad that Hunk had to turn back to his cooking to flip the bread, as his face was probably as dark as his thoughts. In his mind, he could see Hunk and Shay setting up their life in a cozy little beach town, lightyears away from Earth. “Why didn’t you stay there?” he asked before he could stop himself.

“Got called to join a new project on Titan, and--the pay was better.” 

Lance chewed on his lip, too numb to feel it. “Did, did she want to stay?” He didn’t know why it mattered, but he had to know. When Hunk didn’t immediately answer, he glanced at him; he could read the tension in his shoulders--maybe he shouldn’t have brought it up.

“If she did, she didn’t say.”

Lance wondered for the hundredth time  _ why _ had they broken up. Titan was where it had happened, that much he knew, but--had Shay wanted to stay in that beach town? Had she wanted to start a family there, and Hunk hadn’t? It was difficult to imagine Hunk not wanting children, but maybe it had been too soon. 

Hunk would make a great dad. Lance felt his chest tighten with the idea, and as he took a sip of his coke, he wished he’d insisted on a beer instead.

“Okay, you ready for this?” 

Hunk turned around with a plate in his hand. If he was upset, he was doing a better job at hiding it than Lance, as he was back to his smiling self when he approached the table. 

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” he said, trying to sound like it.

But Hunk didn’t seem to notice his mood when he set the plate in front of Lance. It held two fried slices of bread with beautifully cooked eggs in the middle, just like he’d asked for. Lance felt a shiver of excitement run through him. He licked his lips, swallowing in anticipation, barely managing to tear his eyes off the food to look at Hunk. 

“Looks goddamn amazing, Hunk, but--where’s the rest?” he teased, quirking up his brow. 

“Well, your frying pan’s not big enough to fit six of these at once. More will be done by the time you get those two down.” Hunk gave him a considering look and smiled, but there was something off about his expression, like he was hiding a grin behind that innocent look. “Should I wait for you to finish these first?”

Lance swallowed; the scent of the eggs and butter and fried golden bread was tickling his nose, making his mouth water, and he couldn’t resist anymore. “Dude, why would you wait? I ordered  _ six,  _ didn’t I?” he said, picking one of the bread slices up and bringing it to his lips. He could feel Hunk’s eyes following his moves, and though he probably should have felt self conscious or weirded out by the way Hunk was staring at him, all he could think was-- _ this is it. This is what we have.  _ He took a bite--a big bite, the crunchy bread breaking between his teeth--and closed his eyes, his face burning as he hummed in delight. “God, that is fucking delicious,” he said around the food, grinning at Hunk as he went back for more.

“Looks like I don’t have to worry about leftovers this time,” Hunk said, his voice oddly quiet. 

“Just get back to cooking, I’ll take care of the rest.”

Hunk’s lips parted, his eyes glimmering darkly when he smiled. “You’re the boss.”

Lance was grateful that Hunk had his hands full with the cooking; they fell into a silence that was filled with the sounds of cooking and eating, and really, Lance didn’t need another distraction. He had his mouth full of buttery bread and eggs, his mind whirling with feverish thoughts.

Maybe Hunk didn’t want him, but there was no denying that he wanted to  _ feed _ Lance. In the bar, when he’d gotten all that extra food--it had been for  _ him, _ and every day since coming back, he’d made sure Lance had his belly full and then some. Not that he was making it very hard for Hunk to indulge him; everything he cooked was so utterly delectable, so filling and  _ nice, _ Lance couldn’t help himself. 

This felt different than before, when they’d been just two good friends sharing a room at the Garrison. But at the same time, it wasn’t. Hunk had always been the one to offer him a snack if he was getting grumpy from low blood sugar. He’d been the one to fix Lance breakfast and supper if the cafeteria didn’t serve anything nice, somehow always knowing exactly what he craved. Back then, he’d thought nothing of it--Hunk did his share of the eating as well, so taking care of Lance was just a by product, but...

Now, he wasn’t so sure anymore. Picking up the second slice--the first one had already disappeared down his throat--his eyes traveled to where Hunk stood in front of the stove, his broad back turned on Lance as he seasoned another batch of drunk food for him. 

Where did you draw the line between friendly caretaking, the kind where you looked after your roommate and kept them from neglecting themselves, and--whatever the fuck this was? His brain was too fuzzy to figure it out. Their shared history played inside his head like a broken record, skipping and grinding on moments that, taken out of context, looked strange, almost intimate. The answer had to be somewhere in there--he just needed to find the key.

Feeling the weight of his gaze on him, Hunk turned around. He didn’t talk, just  _ looked _ , taking in Lance as he ate his food, shoving the last corner of the bread into his mouth. There was that same heat in his eyes again--it seemed like every time Lance went overboard with his food, it was there, making his dark eyes gleam like there was fire inside them. Lance felt his skin tingle, a rush of excitement spreading through him, replacing numbness with warmth. He swallowed the last bite before smirking at Hunk. 

“Is it done?” 

“Almost.”

“Mm, good.” 

He grabbed the can of coke from the table and drank, wiping his lips dry as he set it down again; he let out a burp to make room for the next serving, and after a moment of hesitation, he slid his hand down to his gut. Drawing in a breath, he gave it a quick look-see, rubbing his thumb down over his stomach to gauge its fullness. 

And--it was full. His gut bulged out in a firm, round ball, clear as day under his shirt. His soft chest rested on top of his belly shelf, and his belly in turn rested on his lap, taking up more room than he’d imagined. Lance poked at it, dumbfounded and  _ curious _ . He swallowed; maybe he’d spoken too soon--fitting in four more egg breads was going to be tough.

“Don’t tell me you’re starting to feel full already.” 

His head snapped up at Hunk’s words; he’d come to pick up the empty plate from the table, and was now so close he could easily reach over and touch him. His eyes slid down from Lance’s face to his belly, his heavy gaze making Lance fill with heat. 

“Oh,” he mumbled, a blush spreading down his face and neck. He hesitated just a beat before leaning back and patting his gut, pulling a grin on his face. “Don’t you worry, I’m not finished yet.”

But Hunk wasn’t looking at his face; his eyes were glued to Lance’s gut, following the movement of his hand as he rubbed his palm over it. Finally, he tore his gaze up and said, “Good, because the second round is up, and you know I don’t like wasting food.”

“Me neither, but--you could always take up my slack,” he shot back. “You’re not still  _ full _ from those nachos, are you?”

Hunk grinned, raising his brow. “Oh, don’t start bargaining now.” He looked like he was about to leave, but instead, he leaned over and put his big, warm hand over Lance’s belly in a light pat. “I have no doubt this little thing can hold more food.”

Lance could barely hold back his reaction, his breath catching as his heart lunged to his throat; the touch of Hunk’s hand went straight to his dick, and for once, he was glad that his gut was big enough to hide it. “A-ah, you got that right,” he managed to say. 

All too soon, Hunk pulled away. “Just a sec, I’ll bring the next batch over.” He went back to the stove and moved the finished bread slices on the plate, then brought it over. “Eat up,” he said, giving Lance an indulgent smile. 

This time, he didn’t linger by the table to watch Lance eat, but instead, strode over to the fridge and pulled out a package of cheese, and another containing slices of ham. Lance felt like he was in a dream as he watched Hunk prepare to cook the last serving, his mouth too dry and his dick too hard to focus on the food in front of him. “What’s that?” he asked roughly, clearing his throat twice before getting the words out. 

“A surprise,” Hunk said, his face looking downright  _ devious. _ “Just wait and see--oh, but your eggs are getting cold, better eat up before they cool off.” Hunk waved his spatula, playfully scolding him, then turned his back on Lance again.

God, Lance was so  _ fucked _ . He’d been on the verge of a breakdown all night, and all this teasing and flirting--because that’s what this was, wasn’t it? Hunk was fucking  _ flirting  _ with him, plain and clear, and--he just couldn’t handle it. It drove him back to his food with a vengeance, Hunk’s words giving him an incentive he couldn’t resist. He took a huge bite--still so  _ good _ \--his heart racing in his chest with excitement. 

_ He wants me to finish this, _ he thought, almost delirious in his lust.  _ He wants me to eat it all. _

His stomach felt packed with food, tight and swollen on his lap, but he didn’t care--he knew it wasn’t impossible. Maybe he’d never eaten this much in one go, but there had always been that urge to just let go, give in, go the whole fucking nine yards. Sure, he’d overeaten before, but--not like this. Not with the full intention of pushing way past the point where any normal person would stop, and getting absolutely  _ stuffed.  _ Lance dropped a hand to his belly, kneading the side of his gut while chewing and swallowing, his focus single minded in his quest to devour the food in front of him. 

He was halfway done with his fourth bread slice when the scrape of a chair being pulled roused him from his frenzy. He looked up to see Hunk sitting on the opposite side of the table. Clearing his mouth, Lance wiped his lips on the back of his hand before saying, “That--” But he couldn’t finish the sentence, as a sudden burp erupting from his gut interrupted him. He flushed, but Hunk didn’t seem appalled. “That was quick,” he started again, trying to catch his breath. He felt so  _ full _ .

“I left the rest on the pan, they’ll stay good for a moment, so--” Hunk smiled at him, his eyes dark and hooded. “--you’ve got time to finish that one before the big finale.” 

_ The big finale. _

Lance could only nod. There was something in Hunk’s voice when he said the words that made the blood in his veins course faster, the rush of it loud in his ears. Maybe it was just all the food hitting his overloaded system and throwing him off balance, but the way Hunk was talking to him, relentlessly pushing him forward, like he needed this as much as Lance did--it was so weirdly erotic that he had to look away. He burped again, reaching for his drink. 

“You need another?” Hunk asked, indicating his coke. 

“Uh, sure.”

“You got it.” 

While Hunk went to fetch him a fresh drink, Lance pushed another bite of food in his mouth. It was easier to eat when Hunk wasn’t watching him, but despite his determination, he was starting to struggle. His jaws were tired of chewing, his bloated gut feeling like it might burst if he put in any more food, the slightest movement making his belly twinge with pain. The bread was sticking to his throat, like there was no more room in his stomach for it to go down, and every new addition only made the feeling worse.

The discomfort must have shown on his face as when Hunk returned, he set a hand on his shoulder and said, “You don’t have to eat any more if you don’t want to. I don’t want you to be sick.”

Lance didn’t look at him, his face flushing with embarrassment. In truth, he was torn between giving up and going for the finish, his mind a mess of indecision. He  _ wanted  _ to keep eating, but--maybe he should listen to reason and give up before he really hurt himself. 

“‘S okay,” he mumbled, shoving the last bit of bread in his mouth before leaning back and grabbing his belly with both hands. “What’s a few more pieces when you already got me eating so much tonight?” He tried his best to make it believable, but his smile was wavering, his breath coming out in small puffs. 

Hunk eyes moved from his face to his middle, the frown on his brow smoothing as he took in Lance’s form. “You...” He trailed off, like the sight of him had made him lose his train of thought. Lance saw him swallow, then look away. “You really are something,” he finally said, voice barely audible. 

“Just bring me the food,” Lance said, sounding more confident than he felt. 

As Hunk headed back to the stove for the last round of eggs in the basket, Lance went for the only solution he could think of to make room for more food. He reached under his gut for the waistband of his jeans, and quickly popped the button open; they weren’t  _ that _ tight on him, but the relief was still palpable as the constricting band gave away. He sighed, tugging the hem of his shirt down to hide the open fly, and settled back to the table.

“Wow, what are  _ those _ ?” he asked when Hunk pushed the plate in front of him. It held two more fried bread slices and all the holes Hunk had cut out, now golden with butter. But this round was different: these slices were topped with cuts of ham on one side, and Lance could see strings of melted cheese escaping from under the ham. They smelled  _ amazing,  _ almost good enough to make him hungry again.

“Just a little twist on the classic,” Hunk said.  He was trying to hold a nonchalant expression, but he was clearly proud of his creation. “Try it.”

Despite his fullness, Lance couldn’t help but feel eager as he picked up a slice, admiring it before biting out a big chunk. “Oh,  _ Jesus, _ that’s  _ good _ ,” he moaned, giving Hunk a dazzled look. “Fuck, how did you come up with this?”

Hunk bit back a grin, shrugging his shoulders. “Just an idea,” he said.

“Well, count me a fan,” Lance said, his mouth full as he munched on the bread, appetite renewed. 

Maybe unbuttoning his jeans held some magic after all, or maybe it was just this new and improved taste that made eating easier, but he was able to take down the first of the last slices with relative ease. He was aware of Hunk following his progress from across the table, his silent approval giving him a fresh wave of determination, but as the last corner passed his lips and slid down his throat, he could feel his stomach protesting violently. He winced, pressing a palm against his belly to calm it, but it was becoming clear that he wouldn’t be able to finish this. “Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, disappointment coloring his cheeks. 

“Don’t push yourself,” Hunk said, and Lance looked up to meet his gaze; the expression Hunk wore on his face was in deep contrast to his soft words, the look in his eyes blazing with heat and intensity.

“I--I want to,” he blurted out.

Hunk’s eyes widened. He hesitated, his eyes moving from the food left on Lance’s plate to his gut, then back to his plate. “You sure?” he asked, even as he poised his hand above the dish, glancing at him.

“I, I want it.” 

There was a moment of silent communication between them, and then Hunk nodded. He picked one of the fried bread holes between his fingers, and offered it out to Lance. “Then keep eating,” he said, his voice low and husky.

Lance stared at him, confused and unsure, but Hunk held his gaze until he knew with a certainty what he wanted him to do. Slowly, he leaned forward, parted his lips and took the food from Hunk’s fingertips, closing his mouth around the bite just millimeters away from Hunk’s fingers. He could barely taste the buttery bread, barely registered anything aside from the flicker of emotion on Hunk’s face.

“Good, that’s it.” Hunk licked his lips, then picked up another piece of bread. “Just keep going.”

And--Lance did. One bite followed another, until all the holes were gone and Hunk held out the last slice of ham topped bread to him. He was dimly aware of his gut pressing against side of the table, so packed with food it forced the table to move if he leaned on it too hard, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t stop now, no matter how his stomach roiled with each new addition of food, how fucking  _ full _ he was getting because--Hunk was  _ feeding _ him, soft words of encouragement falling from his lips, telling him  _ one more bite, that’s it, you’re doing good. _

He’d never been so turned on in his life. His dick was painfully hard, just like his gut, throbbing in the confines of his jeans. The food was disappearing fast, but Lance didn’t want this to be over. He wanted-- _ more. _

“Last one, Lance.” Hunk was leaning across the table with his elbows on top to meet Lance halfway; his eyes shimmered, his face bare and solemn and  _ committed _ , like this was the most important task he’d ever been given. “Just this one more, and you’re done.”

Lance felt like he could barely breathe. His gut was  _ aching _ , even the shortest breath making it obvious how utterly and deeply he’d blown past his limits. “A-ah,  _ Jesus, _ I’m so, so--” He winced, clutching his stomach, trying to shift on his seat to find a more comfortable position, but there was none. His gut was a ball of hurt, radiating pain from his middle, and there was no escaping it.

“Lance--”

He knew what Hunk was going to say, and he didn’t want to hear it; he couldn’t bend forward enough to take in the last bite, so he snatched it from Hunk’s extended hand and stuffed it in his mouth, washing it down with a sip of stale coke. It was a struggle, and Lance kept swallowing even after the food was gone, afraid that if he stopped it would all come back and undo his work. 

“You did it,” Hunk said, his words like a sigh, whisper thin and full of wonder. “You finished it.”

As they stared at one another, Hunk’s words slowly sinking in, it finally dawned on Lance what exactly he’d done. He’d lost his fucking mind. Somewhere along the course of the night, he’d gone off the rails and badly, and--how was he going to explain  _ any _ of this in the morning? Embarrassment crawled over his skin like fire ants, and suddenly he wanted to hide.

“I, ah, I need to...” He placed his hands on the table, trying to push himself up, but even the slightest movement made his face twist in pain; he only got a few inches up before falling back on his ass. “Jesus _ fuck _ ,” he cursed, mortified that he couldn’t even stand up.

“Careful, don’t hurt yourself.” Hunk pushed his chair back and was by his side so fast Lance had no time to tell him to stay put; his hand pressed on Lance’s shoulder to stop him from moving, his voice full of worry when he said, “You need the bathroom? Let me help you.” 

“No, no, I need--bed.” He wanted to shake off Hunk’s hand, prove that he was still capable of taking care of himself, but he knew that was a lie. He took a breath, his face burning as he stared at the empty plate that now looked like it was mocking him. “I want to go to bed.”

Hunk nodded. “Of course.” He squeezed Lance’s shoulder reassuringly. “Let me help you.”

_ Fuck.  _ Like he had a choice. 

“Sure, knock yourself out.” 

Hunk moved closer, his hand sliding under Lance’s arm to get a better grip; his knuckles brushed against the side of Lance’s chest and he jolted like he’d been electrocuted--he was so wound up even the slightest touch sent sparks through his system, momentarily overriding the pain. Luckily, Hunk didn’t seem to notice. 

“Okay, you ready? On the count of three.”

Lance nodded; he didn’t trust himself to speak. Hunk did the count, and as soon as he hit three, Lance felt him start to drag him up. He focused his efforts on not throwing up as he pushed himself back on his legs, choking back a cry as his gut protested the movement. He felt weirdly off balance, and it took a moment for him to realize why--his belly was  _ massive _ , so heavy it felt like tipping him over. The room spun around him, and if not for Hunk’s support, he’d probably have crashed back on his seat.

“You okay to walk?”

Lance shot him a glare. “You gonna carry me if I can’t?” Hunk’s eyes flew wide; he looked so comical Lance wheezed a laugh. “Jeez, I was only kidding.”

“Oh,” Hunk said. 

“I’m fine,” he lied, but he was glad that Hunk didn’t let go of him as they started the slow trek toward the bedroom.

It felt like an eternity before they reached Lance’s room. Every step sent a shock of pain through his body, and no matter how softly he tried to step, it was still too much for his stuffed gut. They didn’t talk--he  _ couldn’t _ , his jaw locked to keep from moaning pathetically, too focused on keeping himself together until they reached their destination. He let Hunk walk him all the way to his bed and lower him down on the edge of the mattress; he couldn’t even think about undressing, the pain in his gut too much to handle any extra moves.

“You need me to bring you anything?” Hunk asked, still standing in front of him.

Lance shook his head. “I just,” he started, hiccuping, then wincing. He tried again. “Just need to sleep it off.”

“I’ll bring you a glass of water just in case.”

Lance took advantage of his moment alone and pulled up his shirt. “Holy fuck,” he whispered as he glanced down at his gut. He’d never seen his belly looking so  _ round _ . Forgetting the ache for a moment, he ran his hands over the expanse of it, from the rock hard top to the thick lower part that hid his unbuttoned jeans from view. It felt hot and  _ tight _ , his stretch marks like etchings on his skin, the red lines visible even in the half darkness of the room. He traced his fingers over the marks, over his shallow belly button, then palmed the swollen sides of his gut, trying to breathe in. 

He looked fucking  _ pregnant. _ Felt like it, too, and the way his big fat breasts sat on top of his belly only enhanced the image. With a flash of heat, he thought of Hunk; everything that had happened in the kitchen already felt like a distant dream, too surreal to have really happened, but--he couldn’t forget the way Hunk’s eyes had lingered on his gut, drawn there over and over again, like it was the center of the universe--

_ Hunk _ . 

Lance’s head snapped up--he glanced at the doorway, half expecting to see Hunk staring back at him, but there was no one there. He tried to quell his panic as he tugged his shirt back down again, and scrambled to lie on the bed. 

It was easier said than done, and by the time Hunk actually returned, he’d barely managed to get himself horizontal. “Brought you some aspirin as well,” Hunk said, setting a glass of water on his nightstand. 

But instead of leaving, he hovered by the bedside, and Lance cursed himself for not getting under the covers before his arrival; he felt naked under Hunk’s gaze, the clothes he was still wearing not doing a thing to hide his bloated form--he wanted to roll over and curl into a ball around his gut, but that sounded like too much movement in his current condition.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, hoping that would suffice. 

Hunk’s eyes traveled down his body, and despite the sheer  _ humiliation  _ of getting stranded like this, pinned to the mattress by his massive gut, Lance felt desperately aroused by the lookover Hunk was giving him. He swallowed thickly, trying to stay still as Hunk leaned over him, extended his arm and--

He grabbed the bundled up blankets on Lance’s other side, and gently pulled them on top of him. “You should get some sleep,” he said quietly, not meeting Lance’s eyes. He seemed distracted, hesitating, as if something was bothering him. He opened his mouth, then exhaled. “I don’t know what got into you tonight, why you--did that--but...” 

He waited for what felt like an eternity for Hunk to continue; his heart thundered in his chest, head spinning, until finally Hunk said, “I’m impressed. You’re one hell of an eater.” He glanced up to Lance and smiled, the softness of his expression at odds with the look in his eyes.

A blush spread over Lance’s face and down his chest.  _ You--I did it because of  _ you, he wanted to say, but what came out instead was, “Don’t go.” 

Hunk pulled in a sharp breath, his eyes widening, and Lance hastened to continue before he lost his nerve. “Stay. I, I need--” He couldn’t make himself say it. Instead, he slid his hands to his belly, pushing the blanket down to reveal it. “It hurts.” 

For a moment, he thought Hunk might bolt. A cast of emotions played across his face as his eyes darted down to Lance’s gut, until settling on something Lance couldn’t decipher. He nodded stiffly. “Of course,” he said, his voice muted in the quiet bedroom.

Lance felt like he might explode from the anticipation as Hunk sat down on the edge of his bed. The mattress rocked slightly under his weight, and Lance held his breath as Hunk slowly extended his hand. 

This time, he got his wish.

Hunk’s touch was so achingly sweet on his full belly that Lance wanted to cry. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, too petrified to even really enjoy it as he waited for the moment when Hunk would inevitably pull away; he squeezed his eyes shut in a ditch effort to keep his emotions in check--it felt simply too  _ perfect. _

“Relax,” Hunk murmured. 

Lance could feel the heat of his palm emanating through the fabric as Hunk circled over the highest point of his gut; he moved so carefully Lance had to stop himself from arching up to his touch. Behind his closed eyelids, he imagined Hunk looking at him with the same yearning as he felt, but--he wasn’t brave enough to look. He’d already done enough damage to their friendship with his recklessness for one night.

He let out a stuttering exhale, swallowing past the lump in his throat. Whatever he’d asked, Hunk had given to him--because that’s who he was: someone who’d give the shirt on his back to the needing, and to Lance, he’d always been the kindest of friends. And for all the fucked up shit Lance  _ needed  _ from him, he swore to curb back his selfishness after tonight; he couldn’t risk everything they had just to get his fantasies fulfilled. 

_ This has to be enough.  _

With the soothing weight of Hunk’s hand on his belly, petting him ever so gently and without hurry, Lance slowly felt the tension melt away from his body. The heavy fullness in his stomach was still there, but it was more bearable, less sharp with Hunk’s tender touch distracting him from the pain. Sooner than he’d expected--or wanted; no, he never wanted this to end--Lance felt wisps of drowsiness invade his brain. Before he could stop himself, he slipped into a dreamless sleep.

  
  
  
  
  


By morning, Hunk had gone to his own bed, and Lance woke up to a head full of ache and heart filled with regrets. 


	4. Slice of Life

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter count is up by one (again) because I have no self control and spent too many words on this part, so. Plan's still the same, just need more chapters for it hehe. Thanks to the usual cheer team, you know who you are. <3

He was barely out of the bathroom when Hunk’s voice called from the kitchen.

“Lance! Breakfast!”

Not that he needed the announcement--the scent of Hunk’s cooking had wafted through the apartment and met him in the corridor, making his stomach rumble as he padded to the kitchen.

It was Hunk’s day off, but as usual, he’d woken up before Lance. If his part time job at the company was good for something, it was for allowing him plenty of time to indulge in making lavish breakfasts, and using some extra hours in preparation for whatever dinner he was planning.

Well, at least Lance used to think it was a good thing.

Two weeks had passed since their bar night, and now, nothing felt the same. The morning after, Lance had woken up with a hangover of the century, tongue sticky and head blistering with hurt. But even worse than that was the ache in his gut. His stomach had felt _sore,_ torn and stretched from forcing so much food into it--it even looked swollen, still bloated like a balloon under his shirt. Coupled with the nausea from drinking too much had been the regret that clouded his mind in an overwhelming rush, and it had all just been too much. He’d swallowed his pride and called in sick, sending Hunk off to work on his own.

They hadn’t talked about it. Any of it. Not so much as to brush it off to a drunken mistake, a weird sidestep in their friendship that would never happen again.

That’s what Lance had spent his sick day swearing to himself, anyway--that he would stop pressing Hunk to feed him, to take care of him. Allowing him to do so would just lead to more trouble. Whatever Lance thought had happened-- _Hunk flirting with him, looking at him like he was the center of his universe_ \--it had all been just his imagination. Nothing more than a desperate projection of his needs, magnified by booze.

Besides, if Hunk felt the same, he would have said something by now, right? There was no reason for him not to, unless--he didn’t. He was probably just as embarrassed as Lance; bringing it up would just make things worse.

So, the memory of that night was left to haunt their apartment, like a cold and omnipresent ghost. There was no avoiding each other in the small space they shared, so Lance had done his best to act normal and forget. But everything felt tainted, somehow, by what ifs and what could have beens.

Lance hiked up his pajama pants and adjusted his t-shirt before entering the kitchen; Hunk didn’t notice him when he stopped in the doorway, and as always, the sight of him made Lance’s chest tighten. Watching him putter around the stove and reach into the cupboard to pull out plates for them gave Lance an instant flashback to _that night--_ he cleared his throat, not allowing himself time to wallow.

“Morning,” he said, voice still gruff from sleep.

Hunk startled, turning on his heels. “Oh! G’morning. I’m just about done so you can take a seat, I’ll serve you.” He flashed him a smile; Lance could never understand people who woke up in such good spirits, but Hunk had always been an early bird.

“What are you making?” Out of curiosity, he ignored Hunk’s orders, sauntering closer to peek around him at the stove.

He saw the answer to his question before Hunk could reply him, and swallowed. He had been busy--there was a pile of neatly fried pancakes on a plate next to the pan, where there was still more cooking. They looked thick and fluffy, the scent making Lance’s mouth water, but--there were so _many_ of them.

“Wow, that’s a lot of pancakes.”

“Huh?” He felt Hunk glance at him. “You don’t like pancakes?”

Lance chewed on his lip, blush creeping on his face. “I do, but...”

Hunk flipped the last pancake on the pan, then turned off the stove. “I can make something else if you don’t want them...” He trailed off, and Lance suddenly felt guilty.

“No, that’s--that’s fine.”

Hunk moved past him, pointing his spatula at the pancake stack. “Um, so. How many?”

The question sounded weird, and it took a moment for Lance to realize why. He’d been happily eating just about everything Hunk put in front of him, and to be actually _asked_ how much he wanted put a strange spin on things. Lance eyed the pile, counting the pancakes before saying, “Just three is fine.”

“Just _three_? But--”

“I’m not that hungry,” he lied. But of course, his stomach decided to betray him by letting out a pitiful whine. Lance grimaced. “Fine. Make that four.” That would still leave Hunk with the majority of the pile, but Lance didn’t want to risk it. He busied himself with the coffee machine, trying to ignore Hunk’s eyes on him.

Why did this have to be so hard? He’d tried coming up with excuses that wouldn’t make Hunk suspicious, but Lance could tell he wasn’t buying it. He didn’t want Hunk to think he was trying to lose weight--fuck no, he wasn’t, and he certainly didn’t want Hunk to start cooking any diet shit for him. But every time he refused seconds--or thirds, as was more often the case--he could see Hunk’s expression get tight and worried, and he _hated_ it.

All he wanted was for thing to go back to normal. “Why’re we having a pancake breakfast, anyway?” he asked as he took a seat at the table, a cup of capsule coffee with him.

Hunk shrugged. “No reason.”

He couldn’t have been a worse liar; Lance knew Hunk baked to de-stress, but what could have him so anxious at this hour, on his day off? He frowned at his friend across the table, trying to read his face, but Hunk was studiously ignoring him in favor of the stack of pancakes in front of him.

“Any plans for today?” Lance asked, taking a stab at his own breakfast. He hadn’t even started yet, and already he felt unsatisfied by the four lousy pancakes on his plate. Hunk’s stack was at least twice as high, and Lance felt both angry and jealous as he watched him cut into the syrup coated pile of goodness.

“Oh, not really. Might try a new bread recipe I saw on a blog I follow.”

_More baking?_ Something was definitely up. Lance stuffed a forkful of pancake into his mouth, momentarily forgetting his annoyance as the fluffy sweetness filled his senses. “Mm. ‘S good,” he said around the bite.

Hunk perked up. “Yeah? I used coconut milk on them. You like it?”

“Oh, yeah, tastes great.”

“That’s good.”

They ate in quiet for a moment; the food on Lance’s plate was vanishing too quick for his liking, and he tried so slow down, savor the taste while sipping on his coffee. He was tempted to take back his words, ask for Hunk to make him something _more_ \--he still had a workday ahead of him, and he needed the sustenance--but he stomped down the urge, drowning it in a mouthful of coffee.

Hunk cleared his throat. “Can I ask you something?”

Lance froze, fork midway to his mouth; his eyes snapped up, a flash of fear making his voice come out in a strangled croak. “What?”

Hunk kept his eyes fixed on his plate, poking at his pancakes; he didn’t seem to notice Lance’s reaction, his face reserved, a frown knitting his brows. “There’s this restaurant I’ve been wanting to try out. It’s kinda upscale--I’ve been talking about it with Stevens, his cousin works there--so I was just wondering...” He finally lifted his gaze, but the guarded look stayed on his face. “Would you like to go there with me?”

So _that’s_ what Hunk had been nervous about. Not about Lance shunning his food, not about _that night_ , not about leaving--the relief that washed over him was so strong that Lance forgot he was supposed to answer, and of course, Hunk misread his silence.

“You don’t need to. I mean, if you don’t feel like it,” he rushed on, eyes flicking down again. “I just--don’t like dining alone.”

There was something in the way he said it that pierced Lance’s heart with hurt. Here he was, trying so hard to act normal that Hunk thought he didn’t even _want_ his company anymore. His downcast eyes spoke of loneliness and misery, not of excitement, or friendship.

Fuck. It was one thing to break his promise to not indulge--he just couldn’t handle letting his best friend down like this.

“Dude, of course I’ll go with you.”

Hunk glanced up; when he saw Lance’s smiling, the knit of his brow eased up, his lips tugging into a smile of his own. “You will?” He hesitated, then added, “The food is--weird, probably. So. Don’t expect too much.”

“Wait, why are you taking me somewhere that serves _bad food_?”

Hunk pulled a face. “I didn’t say _bad_ , just, uh.” He took a breath. “Okay, so I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but Stevens is a bit of a foodie? So we’ve been talking about different restaurants and he tells me this place is _the_ place to try out right now. It’s been around for a few years, so you might have heard about it, but it does like. Space food with a fusion twist?”

Lance blinked. “ _Space food?_ ”

“Like--space veggies, moonberries and like, anything you can legally import.”

“And half the stuff you can illegally get?” Lance made a face, and Hunk laughed; the sound of it made the tension in Lance’s chest ease up. This was better. “Sounds cool. So, when are we going?” he asked, cutting another piece off his pancakes.

“I’m not sure yet. There’s a wait list--” As Lance raised his brow, Hunk chuckled. “--I know, I know. It’s that kinda place. But Stevens said he could probably get us in sooner, through his cousin.”

“Right.” A space food restaurant with a wait list sounded pretty far off from his usual dining experiences, but--Hunk had said it was a high end place. “Wait, is there a dress code?”

“Hmm--” Hunk swallowed his mouth empty before continuing. “--smart casual, probably?”

Lance thought through the sorry state of his wardrobe, and winced. It had been a long time since he’d last worn a suit--a long time and many, many pounds. “Uh, I don’t think I have--”

“Hey, don’t worry about that. We have time to go shopping before we get a reservation,” Hunk cut him off before he could finish his sentence. Lance gave him a look, and Hunk smiled. “I, ah...” He glanced down, hand clasping the soft mound of his belly. “I should probably buy some new clothes as well.”

He was momentarily distracted by the sight of Hunk’s hand. His fingers sunk into the pudge slightly, the close fit of his t-shirt highlighting the roundness of his belly. He’d definitely gotten chubbier. Chubby enough to need new clothes to replace the ones he’d arrived with, big enough that--now that Lance _looked_ , he couldn’t believe he’d missed it.

He tore his eyes up, willing the heat off his cheeks. “Y-yeah, me too.” To stop himself from saying more--like how _good_ it looked--he stuffed the rest of his pancakes in his mouth, gulping down his coffee with haste.

“So. It’s a date, then?”

He nearly choked on his coffee at that.

“I mean, not a _date_ date, obviously. A bro-date? Brate?”

“ _Brate?_ ”

Lance stared at Hunk, who was staring at his plate, looking decidedly uncomfortable. He suddenly saw an image in his head of the two of them on an _actual_ date; candlelight softening the features on Hunk’s face, hitting his eyes when he looked at Lance like--

_Like_ _that night._

His heart sank. With the way he’d been acting lately, it was only natural for Hunk to be worried. He didn’t want Lance to think they were anything more than friends, and--that was fine. It had to be.

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days,” he muttered, trying to sound like his heart wasn’t breaking.

“I don’t know.” Hunk shrugged, chuckling to hide his awkwardness.

“Well, I hope they serve lunch then,” Lance said, finishing his breakfast and getting ready to go.

“Huh?”

Lance shot him a look, smirking to his best abilities. “So we can have _brunch,_ of course.”

Hunk looked puzzled for a moment, then bust out a laugh. “ _Oh,_ ” he said, grinning at Lance. “Okay, you’re right. Brate is a bad word.”

Lance just shook his head. “I gotta change. Work calls.”

“See you later,” Hunk called after him.

 

 

 

 

That Saturday, they took Lance’s car and drove to a mall on the other side of the city. Stevens had pulled through surprisingly quick, and they now had a reservation at _Blight & Joy _ set for the next weekend. Lance was at the same time nervous and excited; this would be the first time they went out to eat together--and though it was _not a date_ , he had a hard time suppressing his nerves at the mere idea of sharing a fancy dinner with Hunk.

“Okay, so.”

Lance looked around the mall, trying to get his bearings. It was early afternoon--Hunk had insisted they eat lunch before leaving, even though Lance was still half full from the breakfast he’d cooked. The new recipe Hunk had tried on his day off had turned out to be so excellent he’d made it again, and Lance, being a sucker for fresh baked bread, had not been able to resist the call of the loaf. Add to that the two plates of the shrimp fry and rice noodles Hunk had prepared for “a light lunch”, and Lance had been more than ready to lie down on the couch and fall into a food coma.

He hadn’t exactly forgotten about cutting back. It was just getting harder and harder to resist when Hunk put so much effort into cooking food that was _just_ to his taste. Lance could only pretend to have a stomach ache so many times--he just couldn’t bear the look of disappointment on Hunk’s face when he didn’t eat properly, especially not after knowing how it made Hunk feel. His friendship was more important that this. Lance could control himself.

Still, he needed the clothes, and they had already made plans for the Sunday, so off to the mall they went. He’d rather spend the next day watching baseball than shopping.

“What do you need?” he asked Hunk, scanning the signs for shops that sold men’s clothing.

“Uh, um.” His hesitation made Lance glance his way, and he saw Hunk fidgeting as he looked around the line of stores leading deeper into the building. “A bit of everything, pretty much. I didn’t bring that many clothes to begin with, and uh. I need to size up.” He grimaced, hand catching his stomach again before dropping down; Lance had never thought about it before, but it was a gesture that Hunk made when he was nervous, like he was grounding himself with the touch. It was both adorable and _hot_ , making Lance’s fingers itch to do it for him.

Or better yet, he wished Hunk would touch _him_ like that, seeking solace in the weight of his belly.

He shook the thought away--now was not the time for dwelling on pointless dreams. “Okay, big guy, I got you covered.” He pat Hunk on the arm, leading him down the row of boutiques and chain stores until he found what he was looking for. “This is where I’ve been shopping lately,” he said to Hunk, gesturing towards the store. “I’m sure you’ll find something here, they carry a lot of things in, uh. Lot of sizes.” He faltered at the last words, a hint of self consciousness seeping into his voice.

To his regret, Lance had realized a while back that due to his reckless eating habits, he’d pretty much grown out of the trendy stores he’d used to shop in before gaining a bunch of weight. He was never _that_ into fashion, but he’d prided himself in wearing things that looked good, made _him_ look good. It had been something of a crisis when he’d sized out of his regular brands, but--not enough to make him go on a diet. Instead, he’d sheepishly switched to shopping in stores that sold sizes big enough to cover his belly.

He glanced at Hunk, who was eyeing the store windows with a wary look on his face. Despite the recent weight gain, he still wasn’t _that_ big, not even close to the size he’d once been. But he was tall and bulky--he probably wouldn’t find that many things from a regular store to fit his broad shoulders and thick arms.

“Oh, looks nice,” Hunk said, giving Lance a small smile. “You wanna go in?”

“Sure. Need to get some things for myself too, remember?”

“Oh. Yeah.”

Lance frowned at him as they walked into the clothing store. Hunk was glancing around the racks and displays, hands deeps in the pockets of his jacket. His eyes darted around the rows and rows of clothes like he was expecting them to attack him.

“You okay, bro?”

Hunk jolted, his head snapping towards Lance. “Uh. Yeah.”

“It’s not all designer shit, if you’re worried about the price.”

Hunk quickly waved him off. “Oh--oh no, that’s not the issue.” He looked around, then gave Lance an awkward smile, talking in a low voice like he was afraid of being overheard. “I just. Kinda hate shopping, to be honest.”

“Huh? Why?”

Hunk grimaced. “I don’t know, I’m just. Bad at it.” He shrugged, looking more openly nervous now, his hands coming to motion as he explained, “Usually I just pick the first thing that fits. I’m not good with colors and stuff. Finding cool things, or--or any of it, really.”

Lance felt his lips twitch. “Dude, you got nothing to worry about. You’re with me now--I’ll help you find the things you need.” Saying it out loud made him wince. Maybe that was a bit too much; he was no expert himself, so he should probably leave it to professionals. He sniffed, glancing away. “Or, you know, they have pretty good staff here, so--”

“ _No_ ,” Hunk cut him off firmly, clapping his hands on Lance’s shoulders almost desperately, “I want _you_ .” Then he seemed to realize what he was doing, and let go. “I--I mean, I want you to _help_ me. Please?”

Lance stared at him. “Of course, dude.” He could still feel the weight of Hunk’s hands on his shoulders. “Anything you need.”

Relief spread across Hunk’s face. “Oh, good. Um. Good.”

Lance opened his mouth to speak, but he was interrupted by a cheerful voice saying, “Hiya, how are you guys doing?”

They both jumped, heads turning in unison to look at the young sales clerk who had appeared next to them. She gave them a well practiced smile, then as neither of them replied, said, “Can I help you with anything?”

Hunk got his voice back first. “No, we’re good.” He glanced at Lance, then caught his hand and gave him a tug. “We’re just gonna, um, look around, thanks.” Lance offered the clerk an apologizing smile as Hunk all but dragged him between the racks.

They were well away from the clerk when Hunk finally let go of him. “Sorry,” he said.

“It’s fine, dude.” Okay, so Hunk _really_ wanted his help. Lance felt slightly off balance at being suddenly needed so fiercely, but it was--nice. _Hunk needed him_ , he thought, warmth spreading his body. “What do you wanna look at first?”

“Uh...” Hunk gave him a grimace.

Lance scoffed. “Relax, bro, it’s gonna be fine.”

He looked around him; they were at the casual wear section of the store, and the racks were lines with colorful shirts and shorts, leisurely cut pants and sweaters. He tried to focus on the task at hand, but imagining Hunk wearing any of the clothes made him feel weirdly flustered. He’d look great in anything and everything, but that was probably just because Lance thought Hunk looked _great_ , period.

“Try and look around for something you like,” he said, trying to sound reassuring as he started going through the racks with a more critical eye.

He had no idea what to pick, though. There were things that would no doubt make Hunk look dashing as fuck--like the short sleeved button up with big green leaf patterns on it that would look gorgeous against Hunk’s dark skin; or the soft brown cardigan that made Lance almost blush at the thought of him wearing it--but nothing screamed explicitly _Hunk_ at him. Lance browsed through the racks, frustration and indecision building up in the pit of his gut, until he got to a display table with t-shirts covering it.

Skulls and roses, band logos and brand slogans, plus a selection of jokey print shirts in wild colors--nothing really interesting. He shifted through the stacks anyway, gravitating towards the colors that would look extra nice on Hunk. His fingers caught something slippery, and he pulled at the fabric to unfold a shirt just as Hunk came by his side.

“Oh, what’s that?”

Lance held out the shirt in front of him: it was a galaxy patterned beach tank, with white letters on the front saying _WHAT A TRIP._ He snorted. “How about it?” he asked, turning to show it to Hunk.

Hunk’s brows shot up, then he pulled a face. “How about not.”

Lance laughed, folding the shirt and setting it back; he saw Hunk eyeing the clothes on the table, lifting up a neon yellow t-shirt from the back. “For you,” he said, grinning.

The black letters on the front spelled out _Sour Lemon Squeeze._

Lance groaned. “Oh my god, that’s-- _bad._ ”

“What, not your style?” Hunk asked, trying to look innocent. “I think it would look _great_ on you.”

“Dude, don’t even try, or you’ll have to wear--” He looked back on the table to find something even worse, his eyes catching on a black print shirt peeking from under a pile of other atrocities. He pulled it out, and hesitated only a second before glancing at Hunk. “--oh, this would be a good one for you.”

Hunk moved closer to look around him. “Hmm, no.” He ran his fingers over the simple picture of a pizza slice; the words framing the triangle read, _Slice of Life._ “It would fit _you_ much better.”

Lance felt a blush creeping on his cheeks. Why was he thinking about Hunk’s hands on him again, trailing the words where they would stretch over his chest, his gut? “Are you calling me a glutton?” he asked, only realizing what he’d said after the words had already left his mouth.

Hunk froze. “No, no, I was just--”

“Doesn’t matter,” Lance cut him off, ignoring the burn of his face as he hastily folded the shirt away. “Did you find anything yet?”

“Oh, something, yeah.” He lifted his arm to show a couple of pairs of pants draped over it. “I should probably try them on.”

“Yeah,” Lance said. “Let’s see if we can find you a shirt or two to try on too.”

They went around the store together, Hunk hovering at his side while Lance picked out clothes for him. “What’s your size?” he asked as he modeled a light brown shirt against Hunk.

“Uh, I’m not sure.”

Lance looked between him and the shirt appraisingly. Hunk seemed prone on wearing shirts that were too big on him--the shirt he had on now was still loose enough to not be tight around his belly, even though he’d wanted to buy bigger ones. Maybe he was self conscious, or just liked the looser fit, but--Lance thought Hunk could even go _down_ a size and he’d still be fine. He squinted at the tag, then put the shirt away and picked another one a shade of green. “Here,” he said, handing it to Hunk.

He picked a couple more things--a few casual button ups, a t-shirt in burnt orange with a pattern of lions and flowers, brown shorts--until Hunk’s arm was loaded with clothes to try on. “Um, isn’t this enough?” he asked, clearly ready to hide away in the fitting room; the sales clerk who had approached them earlier kept edging closer to their location, ready to serve at the first opportunity.

“Patience.” Lance barely glanced at him as he said it, eyes scanning the racks and displays for _something..._ “Oh, that’s _perfect._ ”

He strode over to the rack that stood next to a mannequin dressed in a grey sweater and black slacks. On the hanger was the same sweater, but in a beautiful, rich golden color-- _Hunk’s_ color, through and through. He ran his hands over the soft knit sleeves and gave a pleased hum; it had to be cashmere, or silk wool, because it felt just _sublime_ to touch.

It would be perfect for their date.

_Bro-date_ , Lance corrected himself as Hunk caught up with him, stopping by his side. He plucked the hanger from the rack and turned back to Hunk. “This,” he said, presenting Hunk with the sweater--without thinking, he pulled it against himself, like he was modeling the fit on himself. “This with that grey blazer of yours, it’s gonna be perfect for the restaurant.” He flashed Hunk a triumphant smile.

Hunk’s eyes raked over his torso; Lance had barely realized his mistake when Hunk’s fingers brushed over his belly, feeling the soft fabric of the sweater. It was just a simple touch, but it sent a trail of heat coursing through Lance’s veins. He fought back a shiver, resisting the urge to suck in his gut as he waited for Hunk to speak.

“Feels nice,” Hunk said, clearing his throat before continuing. “Very... soft.”  

“R-right? Here, add it to the pile.” He pushed the sweater at Hunk, turning away from him. “There’s a fitting room in the back, I’ll show you where.”

Lance wanted to rub his belly where Hunk had touched him, but he kept his hands under control as he lead Hunk to the back end of the store. “Try ‘em on, I’ll be here if you need something.” He waved Hunk off and took a seat on a bench set conveniently right by the stalls; once Hunk was gone, he let out a deep sigh and leaned his back against the wall.

He felt exhausted. Not that he was getting too out of shape for shopping, but it certainly felt good to take the weight off his feet. After a discreet glance around to ensure no one was watching, he started gently rubbing his gut; it felt a bit swollen still, not too full but bloated and round. He scoffed softly to himself--the moment he eased up on his resolve, Hunk had him eating a mountain of food without even trying.

He really was hopeless.

Keeping a hand on his belly, Lance looked down at himself. The shirt he had on under his jacket was one of his more recent purchases, but it had still felt a bit snug when he’d pulled it on. Now that he was sitting down, the fabric stretched tight around the widest part of him, painting his belly in plain view. A flush came over him as he grabbed at his gut, feeling the heft of it against his palm; shit, it had to be just the lunch that made it feel so _heavy._ He couldn’t have gained more weight when he’d been avoiding any extra indulgences since--

Well, that wasn’t exactly true. Lance had been avoiding _Hunk’s_ indulgent meals, but other than that? He’d sure kept his hunger at bay when Hunk hadn’t been there to share a meal with him. It was just so _hard_ to cut down his servings after eating more than his fill on the regular. He didn’t like being hungry.

Hearing a voice, Lance snatched his hand back, and a moment later, a couple emerged from around the corner. The lady glanced at him curiously, but the man didn’t even notice his red-faced presence; he was busy talking non-stop about which one of the suits hanging off his arm he was about to pick.

Lance suddenly wanted to groan. Fuck, he’d almost forgotten _he_ was supposed to be shopping too.

“Hey, Lance?”

Hunk’s voice pulled his attention back to the fitting stalls. “Yeah, I’m here,” he called back, getting up from his bench. The curtain to Hunk’s stall was cracked a little, but only enough that he could see Hunk hovering on the other side. “Ready to show off?” he asked, biting back a smirk from his lips.

Hunk winced. “Uh, not quite. Can you--I think I need a bigger size.”

Lance felt a thrill run down his spine. He tried to keep his voice level--his _eyes_ level with Hunk’s and not sliding down to sneak a peek through the crack in the curtain, too eager to see how the clothes fit. “A bigger size of--what? I’ll help you out, but you gotta show me first so I know--”

Hunk pushed the curtain back and Lance was faced with his gorgeous plump body in the full. He was wearing the orange patterned t-shirt and dark shorts--and it took a moment for Lance to find his voice because he couldn’t see a single thing wrong about the sight they presented. “Whoa, dude,” he said, eyes busy cataloguing the view. The shirt draped over Hunk’s shoulders and chest tightly, stretched but in a way that looked deliberate instead of accidental; the same applied to the soft, round belly showing through his shirt, and Lance thought it looked simply beautiful. He cleared his throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, dude, that shirt looks fine as hell on you.”

Hunk gave him a weird look, glancing down at himself. “I--guess? I don’t know, but--” Like before, his hand searched out his stomach to briefly rub over it in a soft touch of reassurance, and Lance could barely keep himself from doing the same. But then Hunk looked back to him, half frowning, and pulled up the hem of his shirt to show his shorts. “--it’s not the shirt that’s the problem.”

Of course, Lance zoned in on the sudden view of Hunk’s pudgy waist first. He couldn’t help it when it was all right there, the flat belly button and the plush love handles and the sinfully soft looking belly hanging on the front. Aside from glimpses here and there, this was the first time he’d had a good chance to _look_ at Hunk’s belly, and he was making the most of it.

Hunk looked so squishy, and _soft_ , and Lance had some real trouble shifting his gaze lower to find out what the actual problem was--but it was immediately obvious when he finally did. He’d been too focused on bare skin and pudgy flesh to notice it before but yes, Hunk’s shorts were kind of tight as well. Now that he looked, he could see the pinch of the waistband, the strain of the dark fabric around Hunk’s hips. He swallowed, wetting his lips to speak because--goddamn, he felt so out of depth, cast out on a sea of forbidden desires from the sheer sight of him.

“Uh, it’s. Yeah. They are, um.” Lance cleared his throat, but his voice came out weirdly squeaky when he asked, “What size are those?”

“I thought these were 40s, but the way they fit...” Hunk turned around to look at his reflection in the double mirrors inside the stall; his fingers dug into his waist as he tried to adjust the shorts, and all Lance could do was watch the ripples that danced across his flesh as he moved around. His shirt was still rolled up around his waist, offering Lance a prime view of his jiggling love handles--which upon closer inspection looked definitely thicker. Juicier.

“I donno, maybe I picked the wrong size, but I... do need bigger ones.” He poked at his belly, then pinched a good handful as if testing its size. The expression on his face was conflicted when he turned around and said, “I guess I didn’t realize I’d gained back so much weight.” He pulled down the shirt before unpopping his pants, and Lance bit his lip to _focus._

“But hey, that’s a good thing, right?”

He should have stopped when Hunk’s face went slack for a moment, his eyes widening with surprise. But he couldn’t leave it at that, not when that could be taken to mean so many things, and he rambled on to explain himself.

“It’s just a sign you’re getting better.”

“Better?” Hunk asked blankly, and Lance could just feel the conversation rail off course like a trainwreck.

“You know, taking better care of yourself. Getting over that heartache. You’re still a good looking dude, you’ll be fit to start dating again in no time.”

He tried to smile to save it because oh, _god,_ what was he even _saying?_ Hunk stared at him for a moment, looking stricken like Lance had slapped him on the face, then glanced away.

“Yeah, I guess.”

Fuck, he must have hit a sore spot because Hunk sounded downright miserable. Lance quickly broke the silence in the hopes of shifting the subject, cursing his ability to put his foot in his mouth.

“Don’t worry about it, bro,” he said. “I’ll bring you another pair to try on.” He took a step back, gesturing weakly. “You can try on the other stuff while I’m gone.” Then he turned away and bolted out of the fitting area.

Lance walked back to the shop side, trying to remember where Hunk had picked up those shorts, but his mind was in too much turmoil to be of much help. He should really learn to keep his mouth shut about Hunk’s break up. It had only been a few weeks since then, after all, so obviously Hunk would still be hurting over it. It was too soon to be talking about new girlfriends--and why was he even _talking_ about this stuff when all he wanted was to keep Hunk for himself?

Somehow, he ended up wandering down the right aisle, and spotted the same shorts Hunk had been trying on. His mind immediately  flashed back to the pudgy roll around Hunk’s waist--that whole little show had been just too much for his already fried brain to handle. He searched for the right size while fighting off the blush from his face, his thoughts circling back to Hunk’s plush belly jiggling and bouncing when he tried to fit in his new clothes.

_How tight must his current jeans be_ , Lance thought, and how could he have missed Hunk getting so _thick_ to begin with? Of course, Hunk had been cooking the same way as before, and when Lance hadn’t been eating as much... Well, the food had to go _somewhere._ Was that why Hunk had seemed so upset? Because his putting on weight was--at least partly--Lance’s fault? He tried to shake the guilty feeling off his shoulders, but--he couldn’t say he was all that sorry about it.

Hunk looked perfect at any size, but there was something about the extra weight that just sat on his frame so nicely. Not because it was what Lance remembered--this was something new. Something that tied down to all the food and feeding and weirdness that he had just begun to discover.

He _wanted_ Hunk to get plump again. He wanted it like he wanted all the extra pounds on his own frame, with the same strange, fierce yearning that drove him back to stuffing his face again and again, even when his gut was already bursting. He grabbed the shorts and headed back, head reeling with thoughts.

The curtain was closed when Lance arrived back to the fitting area, so he rapped softly on the frame. “Hunk?”

“Just a sec,” came the reply, and after a few moments, Hunk pulled the curtain open again.

Lance wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but seeing Hunk wearing the sweater he’d picked for their dinner date still took him by surprise. It looked amazing--and _fit_ amazing as well. The soft material was just the slightest bit on the clingy side, showing the gentle swell of Hunk’s belly and the broad set of his upper body, and Lance was floored.

Hunk tugged at the collar, smoothing his hands down over his waist before looking at Lance. “Too tight?” he asked unsurely.

“No, no, that looks--” Lance searched for the right word, but all he could think of was _perfect._ “-- _really_ good,” he almost sighed. He felt drawn in, ready to move in closer to assure Hunk with his hands, his touch, but he steeled himself against the urge.

“You think?” Hunk kept fiddling with the hem, not sounding convinced.

“Dude.” Lance took a step forward, unable to stay put. “It looks fine. It looks-- _great_. I mean, you don’t have to hide your body in loose shirts, it’s fine if you want a bigger size, but...” He let out a breath and gave Hunk a very obvious onceover, hiding the truth in his words behind an exaggerated grin. “You look hot. Like, really, truly fucking hot. Couldn’t ask for a better looking date, to be honest.”

Hunk looked at him from beneath his brows, eyes searching for something on Lance’s features. But then a slow smile spread on his lips, the knit of his frown easing out. “I guess I got no choice, then,” he said, “I want to--um.” He cut himself off, glancing away, and Lance wanted more than anything to step right up to him and give him a hug, wipe the uncertainty off his face.  

But instead, he gave a pat on Hunk’s arm--short and sweet, like a friend would--before moving away. “You’re gonna dazzle the fuck out of those hipsters, bro. Trust me.” He realized he was still holding the shorts like a lifeline, and stuck them out for Hunk to take. “Here.”

Hunk thanked him and took the shorts; for a moment, they both hovered by the curtain, unsure as to what came next. Lance was just about to excuse himself when Hunk cleared his throat and said, “I’m gonna be finished in a moment. Did you--you were gonna buy something as well, right?”

Lance grimaced. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” Hunk said, nodding. “Well, you can go, you know. Do that. I’ll come find you.”

“Yeah, okay.”

He felt weirdly dazed as he turned away to head back to the main shopping area. The image of Hunk filled his head, pushing out everything else; he barely remembered what his plans had been--

“Oh, shit, sorry--” 

“Ah, it’s no problem!”

The sales clerk’s reply was bright and sunny, despite having almost been knocked off her feet by Lance bumping into her. She had a couple of hangers on her hands, but it didn’t look like she was bringing them to anyone as she immediately asked, “You need help finding anything? Everything good with your partner?”

“Uh.” _Your partner._ Lance glanced off, feeling a blush come over his cheeks. He should probably correct her, but--what did it matter if she thought they were _partners_? “He’s fine, just, finishing up.”

“Oh, that’s good. Anything else I can do for you?”

Lance hesitated. She seemed more than eager to be of service, and he really wanted to get done with shopping, so what did he have to lose, really?

“I need a suit.”

The clerk perked up visibly. “Oh, we have some nice ones on sale right now. Would you like me to show them for you?”

“Uh, sure.”

He trailed after her through the store until they reached a section hosting several aisles of formal wear. “What’s the occasion?” she asked, stopping by a mannequin in a flashy white suit.

“Dinner,” Lance said.

“What kind of a restaurant?”

“Um, it’s kinda fancy I hear.”

“Black tie?”

“No, uh. Something less fancy than that. Smart casual?”

The clerk made a humming sound, looking at him through narrowed eyes. She was probably just trying to estimate his size, but it made him want to suck in his gut.

“Do you have a budget?”

Lance blinked. “For the restaurant?”

She looked startled for a second, then laughed. “For the suit,” she corrected. “We have some good basic suits on sale right now, but if you’re looking for something in a higher price range--”

“No, that’s--that’s fine.”

He was pretty sure he wouldn’t get that many opportunities to wear a suit outside this dinner date; it was already a bit too much to buy one specifically for the occasion, but Lance wanted to look good. If this was as close as he got to having an actual date with Hunk, he wanted to at least look the part.

“Okay! So, let’s have a look here first--” The sales clerk guided him towards a display with different colored suits hanging by a couple of dressed up mannequins. “These are all of a similar cut--single breasted with a roomy waistline. The material is a good quality cotton blend, so with 30 percent off, it’s a great bargain.”

Lance looked at the price tag, but managed to cover up his wince. Was he really going to spend that much money on something he was likely to only wear once?

“Do you have a color preference?”

He was about to shake his head, but then his eyes caught a glimpse of blue at the end of the rack. He made way closer, pulling out a random size of the suit to look at it, and--oh, it was the perfect shade to go with Hunk’s attire. He could picture them together so vividly it was almost like looking at a photograph.

“Oh, you like--”

“This,” Lance said without hesitation, showing her the suit.

The sales clerk smiled, and for once, it looked genuine on her features. “That shade suits you perfectly,” she said. “It’s a good choice for you.” She narrowed her eyes again, and Lance tried not to shift under her gaze; her eyes flickered between the suit and his waist, and finally, she said, “Is that your size?”

“Ah, no, um. I’m not sure.”

He started looking for a tag to check it, but she found it faster. “Hmm.” After a moment of contemplation, she picked the hanger off Lance’s hand and turned back to the rack. “Maybe a size bigger.”

The clerk ended up giving him two sizes to try on; Lance didn’t even want to see what she’d picked for him--he felt mortified enough as it was. He was already backing up to return to the fitting stalls, ready to get this show over with, when her voice called after him.

“Do you need a shirt to go with that?”

Lance flashed her a brief smile and waved her off. “No, I got it.”

He didn’t see Hunk on the way back; the stall he’d been using was still occupied, but Lance didn’t stay to find out if it was by Hunk. He’d promised to come find him, and Lance wanted to be done by the time that happened. So he claimed a free stall for himself and hung the hangers on a railing by the wall, then shrugged off his jacket and took a deep breath. After a moment, he dared a look in the mirror.

Yup, he looked pretty much like he felt--flushed and anxious. Even in the soft light of the fitting room, his cheeks were tinged red.He reached a hand under his gut to undo his jeans, but got distracted by the sight of himself on the mirror, the mound of his belly full and round between his arms.

A lick of heat made his skin tingle, and giving into the temptation, Lance slid his palms up to cradle his gut. He lifted it slightly to feel the weight of it--then a bit more when he felt his soft chest starting to squish against the crest of his gut, looking big and flabby under his shirt--before letting it drop down. He was getting so _heavy_ , fleshy and fat all over his body...

Lance jerked his gaze away, shaking his head to clear it; he had more important things to do right now than playing with himself. He got undressed, leaving only his shirt and underwear on, then he went back to the suits. He checked size tags to see which one was smaller-- _if you could call that size_ small _in any way_ \--and got to work.

The slacks were easy enough, sliding on without too much effort. He zipped them up under his gut before glancing at his reflection--not too bad. He looked no less chubby, but at least they fit without discomfort, framing his hips and ass nicely. Full of confidence, Lance picked up the suit jacket and put in on, rolling his shoulders to get the arms settled before grabbing the lapels to button it up.

Except the buttons didn’t close. Not like they should, anyway, not without Lance sucking in his gut to make it work. “What the hell.” He frowned, buttoning the jacket all the way down before looking into the mirror.

A smile twitched on his lips. _Damn_ , he looked sharp. He ran his fingers over the row of buttons a few times, turning to look at himself from the side--okay, that wasn’t too bad either. But...

Lance swallowed, then slowly relaxed his stomach muscles, letting his belly bulge out to its full size. It wasn’t as bad as he’d feared, but the image he saw now was--different. Turning back to face the mirror, Lance could see the outline of his round gut in the pull of seams and strain of buttons, and--it wasn’t a _bad_ look. He still looked good, just. Not in a way suitable for a date.

_Bro-_ date.

Lance pulled in a breath, and swallowed again. He trailed his hands over the sides of his gut, playing with the buttons--there was just enough pressure on them that the fabric crinkled, and it gave him a weird flash of satisfaction. He looked--well fed. Plump. _Fat._ A pudgy dude with a big gut in a suit he was growing out of, and Lance _shouldn’t_ find the idea so attractive but--he did.

He popped the middle button first, his mind wandering; he didn’t need to push his belly out to make the jacket gape, showing the shirt he wore below and _fuck_ , it looked _hot._ Lance freed the bottom button next, allowing his belly to part the lapels just slightly, before undoing the last one; the jacket fell open to frame his gut, and Lance had to touch it, arousal making him feel dizzy and flustered.

What would Hunk think if he showed up to their dinner like this? If he kept the jacket unbuttoned, he might not even notice; it wasn’t too tight anywhere else aside from his waist. Lance bit his lip, trying to chase the feverish images away from his head, but he couldn’t help imagining it--Hunk in his soft snug sweater, and Lance in a suit that was just a bit too small, a telltale sign of a true glutton...

Lance shivered; god, what was _wrong_ with him?

He took off the jacket and turned his attention to the other one. It didn’t look that much bigger on the hanger, but as he pulled it on for a tryout, it did feel roomier. Lance eyed his reflection critically--his gut was still there, but less prominent. Less--showy. He did the buttons up and gave himself another glance, but before he could get a good impression, a familiar voice called behind the curtain.

“Lance?”

His heart skipped a beat. “In here,” he called back, but didn’t move to open the curtain.

Lance took one last look in the mirror, tugging at the jacket lapels and sucking in his belly to see if it made a difference; the sleeves looked slightly too loose, same for the shoulders, but at least this jacket fit his gut without straining the buttons, sucked in or not. It wasn’t the same as the smaller one, though. He felt more covered up, more _safe_ , but it left him feeling oddly disappointed.

It wasn’t as striking as he’d hoped for, but it had to be good enough.

He forced himself to relax and pulled the curtain aside, immediately spotting Hunk nearby; the sales clerk was there as well, probably waiting to see how the suits fit. But he didn’t get a chance to call for them first as Hunk’s gaze followed the sound of the curtain, and found Lance standing in the opening of the stall.

Lance saw his lips part; Hunk’s eyes darted down, taking him in, and after a long break, he said, “Wow, Lance.”

He felt a flutter in his chest. Hunk was still looking at him, his eyes lingering on Lance’s middle; his body was poised to move but stood still, like he’d forgotten half way what he was doing. Lance suddenly needed Hunk to look at him.

“You like it? I thought you might.”

Hunk sucked in his lower lip, and dragged his eyes up to meet his. “You chose that for _me_? Wow, I...”

“I thought, I mean, it’s a good match to yours, the colors and all--”

He stopped himself, chuckling awkwardly. Hunk’s gaze made him feel on fire from the inside, his brain churning to explain it; he barely noticed the sales clerk edging closer until she spoke.

“Looks like it fits you well! How does it feel?” She gave him a much more professional look over, moving closer.

“Feels, uh. Okay?”

She nodded, adjusting the lapels before stepping back again. “Can you turn around, please?” She drew a circle with her finger, and Lance was too dumbfounded not to obey.

He did a whole spin, slowly, vividly aware of the two pairs of eyes following his every move; he resisted the urge to suck in his belly, if only because they had both already seen it.

As he faced them again, the sales clerk smiled. “Your partner has excellent taste.” She gave Hunk a meaningful look before turning her trained eye back on Lance. “He picked that color right off the rack and look how perfectly it suits him!” 

He saw Hunk’s eyes flicker between him and the clerk, a weird look passing over his features. Lance’s cheeks flushed red--he shouldn’t have left her in the belief that they were _partners_ ; Hunk deserved better than that.

“Um, we’re not--”

But before he could finish, Hunk’s voice drowned him out. “Yes, it really suits him.” He took a step forward, giving Lance a level look that said _I got this--_ he had no time to reply when Hunk reached out to touch him, just a hint of hesitation in his moves. “Love how it looks on you, _honey_.”

Lance stopped breathing. Hunk leaned closer, his hand brushing over Lance’s shoulder and down his arm in a slow caress. Or maybe it just felt slow, time standing still as he felt Hunk press against him, his other hand resting softly against the side of his gut; Hunk’s lips brushed against his cheek, and--that was it, just a fleeting touch as light as a feather, but it sent a shock wave through Lance’s body.

Their eyes met briefly when Hunk pulled back, and the look on his face was so truly _infatuated_ it made Lance shiver all over. He wanted to bask in the glory Hunk’s adoration forever, even if it was just for show.

It seemed too good to be fake--too raw and exactly what he wanted--but they’d done this fake couple thing before. He knew how Hunk could ramp it up, play it so lovey dovey you almost bought it... _Honey._ Anything else he’d given the benefit of the doubt, but that had been their code word.

So why couldn’t he play along?

“Aw, ain’t you two cute,” the clerk cooed; she seemed pleased with herself, like it was all her doing somehow. “I hear you’re shopping for dinner wear. Special occasion?”

He barely registered her question--all he could see was _Hunk_ , his soft gaze, his hands still hovering in the air like he wanted rest them back on Lance. He cleared his throat, mind still reeling. “Ah, no, not real--”

But Hunk was faster. “It’s our _first real date_ ,” he said, sounding so wistful Lance nearly choked. “We’ve been waiting for this for a long time.”

The clerk gasped, delighted. “Oh! Well, congratulations, you two!”

Hunk smiled at her. “Thank you.”

“I trust you found something equally nice for him to wear?” The clerk aimed her words at Lance, giving a curious glance at the clothes Hunk was still holding on his arm.

“I tried,” Lance said, his eyes sliding over to Hunk.

“Oh, you did great,” Hunk replied, so earnest and adoring, “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

Lance wanted to look away to hide his face, but he couldn’t, not when Hunk was smiling at him like _that._ His eyes were shining as he looked at Lance, like he really meant everything. He could barely handle it. “Stop it,” he muttered, but there was no bite in his words.

“Well, I wish you the best and hope you have an _amazing_ date night. You make such a cute couple! If you need anything else, please, just ask.”

She smiled at them both before taking her leave, and they were left standing in silence until she disappeared behind the corner. Hunk dropped his hands and stepped back, giving out a sigh. “Sorry,” he murmured after a beat.

“Why did you...” Lance started, but he didn’t know how to finish the question.

Hunk scratched the back of his neck with his free hand, looking down. “She assumed we were a couple, and--I didn’t correct her. She saw me looking for you and told me you were here, that my _partner_ was here, and...” He paused, chewing on his lip, then offered a smile in apology; it looked closer to a grimace to Lance. “Sorry I got so carried away, I--I hope you’re cool with it.”  

Lance felt his heart drop. Of course, he’d _known_ it was just for show, just to save the clerk from embarrassment--they had done that act before. Hearing it spelled out shouldn’t make a difference.

“It’s fine.” He took a step back, only dimly aware of his surroundings. “I think she bought it.”

Hunk studied him for a moment. “For what it’s worth, I meant what I said.”

_Which part?_ Lance wanted to shout, but he couldn’t make a sound.  

“You look really good in that suit.”

Lance could only nod. His heart was too loud in his ears, frantic and hard, the dullness of shock making way for a sharp ache behind his ribs. “I’ll be right back. Wait--wait for me.” He reached for the curtain, looking away before closing it all the way.

He couldn’t bear Hunk’s gaze on him a moment longer--he needed to get out of this suit.

 

 

 

 

The moment they were out of the store, Lance gave a big sigh. “Well, at least that’s done now,” he muttered, setting a stride back towards the entrance.

He still felt jittery after the whole experience. The cashier asking them _together or separate_ as they loaded their shopping on the counter had been the cherry on top. Obviously, he couldn’t let Hunk pay for his suit, so separate they went, but--now he needed to act _normal_.

So what if Hunk had kissed him. It was just for show, right? Didn’t mean anything.

“Hey, I,” Hunk started, catching up to his side. “I appreciate the help, Lance. Really.” He let out a chuckle. “Shopping for clothes gives me hives, and I got no fashion sense, so. Thank you.”

Lance willed himself not to blush. “It’s no problem, dude.”

He tried to smile, but it must have looked weird on his face as Hunk lowered his voice and continued, “I’m--sorry, you know. For that whole couples thing. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”

“It’s fine.”

“I shouldn’t have--”

“Dude, it’s _fine_.” Lance scoffed, suddenly annoyed. Why couldn’t Hunk just drop the issue? “One kiss won’t turn me gay. Otherwise I’d’ve been one long time ago.”

His anger dissipated the moment the words left his lips. Jesus, what was _wrong_ with him? He kept his gaze resolutely forward as a hot flush colored his cheeks because-- _fuck_.

“Yeah, I know.”

They walked in silence for a moment; Lance felt guilt drilling into him with every step, though what did it matter? Hunk wasn’t gay either, so his words had no meaning to him, even if Lance was... something. Not straight, but definitely in love with his best friend, so--

The touch of Hunk’s hand on his arm startled him, and Lance stopped, his thoughts grinding to a halt.

“Look, I don’t want things to be weird between us.” Hunk searched his eyes, brows knitted, his hand on Lance’s bicep heavy and solid.

Lance swallowed. “They won’t be.”

“I really am grateful and like, I can’t wait for the da--I mean, dinner...” Hunk took a breath, smiling just a little. “Buy you ice cream as a thank you?”

Lance followed Hunk’s gaze to an ice cream shop just behind them. There was a hundred little cracks in his heart right now, and ice cream sounded like the perfect fixing to fill them. Still-- 

“Please?” Hunk asked, and Lance felt his hesitation melt away.  

“Well, if you’re buying--” He fitted a smirk on his lips before turning back to face Hunk. “--can’t say no to that.”

Fuck it. His brand new suit had a little room to grow, and--he really was a sucker to being treated, wasn’t he.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm @[blackdonuthole](https://blackdonuthole.tumblr.com) on tumblr, follow for more chubby Voltron madness!


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